


Someone to Love

by blue_jack



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Amnesia, Angst and Humor, Big Bang Challenge, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, PTSD, Top Tony Stark, inappropriate use of technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it matter that it’d been because of Loki and his damn magic?  He’d fallen in love with Steve once.  He can do it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For the “AMTDI” square of my Cap_Ironman Bingo card, because, haha, Loki is an alien. :D And for the “amnesia” square of my avengers_tables square. Two down. A gazillion more to go.
> 
> So many thanks to all the wonderful people who’ve helped me make this better. Zhadra_ahni and elenothar, you two were amazing in cheering me on and helping me as I was writing, and I really appreciated all your advice and the time you guys spent on this. Caitri, gadgetorious and suddenlyswept, I still can’t believe you guys were willing to beta this so close to the end, especially considering how crazy your schedules are right now, and I love you guys so, so much.
> 
> Finally, I want to thank the two artists who took up this story, ironfries and mal_feasant. I am just blown away by your incredible art. Just, damn, all the feels for you two. 
> 
> Mal's amazing art: [Part 1](http://scarletwitchery.tumblr.com/post/34246335153/it-had-taken-a-while-but-steve-had-finally) and [Part 2](http://scarletwitchery.tumblr.com/post/34246338867/steve-tony-says-looking-overjoyed-to-see-him)  
> Ironfries' gorgeous comic: [I love you (so there)](http://ironfries.tumblr.com/post/34333655455/i-love-you-so-there)
> 
> ETA: NOW WITH BONUS COVER ART BY THE LOVELY GADGETORIOUS! Original post [here](http://gadgetorious.tumblr.com/post/34335150351). <3333333

Tony doesn’t give much thought to Steve when they go their separate ways. They’d had a job to do, and they’d done it and done it well, but Steve is a ball of anger and issues and sadness that he really wants no part of right now. He doesn’t dislike the guy, and they’ve worked out most of the tension between them, but he has enough of his own baggage to recognize a lost cause when he sees it, and Steve? Needs a lot of work. He wishes him good luck though as they shake hands, and then that’s that.

Thor, though, Thor he’ll miss, because he is one fine figure of a man and can swing his hammer like it’s no one’s business. Still, if it means Loki gets dragged to another realm that’s far, far away, then Tony can wave goodbye to Thor’s long, flowing blond hair without too much regret.

He’s a little dubious about Loki’s restraints though, especially the gag. Does Loki need to talk in order to do magic? Because Tony doesn’t really remember him ever talking when he cast a spell. And who handcuffs someone with his hands in front of them anyway, especially using cuffs that were provided by SHIELD—since SHIELD has _so_ much experience with magic? It’s like they’re _asking_ Loki to break loose, but what does Tony know? He made sure Loki was taken off-planet, and as far as he’s concerned, Loki is Thor’s problem now.

As for the rest of the team—Clint, who he hasn't really gotten a chance to know, and Natasha, well, he doubts this is their last encounter—he waves at them both and thinks nothing else of it.

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you,” he tells Fury on his way out. While he doubts Fury will listen, it’s always nice to get the last word in.

He’s quite happy to take Bruce with him, however, because Bruce is brilliant and they should totally hang out. He installs him in Stark Tower—“We’re going to get that wall fixed. And that piece was just decorative. No, it’s not a support beam; I have no idea what you’re talking about”—and deposits a hefty signing bonus into Bruce’s bank account, because Bruce has been on the run for quite some time and while the outfit he’s currently wearing isn’t bad, the clothes he’d had on before were pretty horrible.

“This is JARVIS, by the way,” he says, patting the table console in order to give Bruce an indication of what he’s talking about, even though it’s just the tiniest fraction of what JARVIS really is. “JARVIS, say hello to the nice man.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS says in his dulcet tones, and Tony has to smile at the way Bruce’s eyebrows go up.

He leaves him to get acquainted with JARVIS—“Hands to yourself, and I don’t want to hear about any bad touches when I get back”—and makes it upstairs just minutes before Pepper arrives. She yells at him for endangering himself—although to be fair, it’s not like he’d _wanted_ to fly into an inter-dimensional portal carrying a nuclear warhead—and there are tears and clinging and kisses, and they don’t even make it to the bedroom but he’s not really complaining.

Later, when it’s quiet and dark and she can’t see his face, he tells her about Phil. He’d spare her if he could, but she deserves to know, deserves to hear it from him. He holds her as she cries and he tries to block out the image of cards stained with blood.

She never mentions the fact that he’d tried to call her at the very end, and he’s grateful since it means he doesn’t have to admit that JARVIS had been the one to suggest it. It’s one of many reasons he prefers not to think about the whole episode actually, not the least of which is that he’d almost died—again—and a man doesn’t need so many reminders of his mortality. On the bright side though, at least this time, he doesn’t have to carry a memento of the event for the rest of his life. So there’s that.

But if he were to think about it—which he doesn’t—but if he were, he’d say that it hadn’t been his idea to call because he’d never been in the position of having someone _to_ call before; someone to love and someone who loved him back, not because genetics said they had to or because of his money or because of whatever other trumped up reason, but for just him. Furthermore, there’d been an alien invasion going on, and he’d been holding a nuclear missile _in his hands._ He could be excused for not thinking about it at the time. It doesn’t change how he feels about Pepper.

Anyway, that’s just if he’d spent any time dwelling on it. He doesn’t though, so whatever random thoughts he might have don’t matter.

What _is_ important is that he's alive; they're all alive (Tony thinks of blood-spattered cards and hopes that someone knows the name of the cellist in Portland, because everyone deserves a chance to mourn) and they're not under Loki's control or enslaved by weird aliens with crazy teeth. And he's here, with Pepper.

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair as she sleeps, and he closes his eyes at last and tries not to dream.


	2. Chapter 2

“What about Tuesday?” he asks, looking through his appointments. He sees Pepper wrinkle her nose on the screen. 

“I can’t. I’m the guest of honor at the Rushman Foundation dinner. I might be able to move some things around on Monday, but only if you can come out—” 

“No can do. I’ve got a time-sensitive experiment going on with Bruce. I missed the last one and he gave me that calm, freaky smile of his, and I think it’d be in the best interests of my future health to not back out of it. What about Friday? I could stay the weekend—”

“I have to fly out to close the negotiations for the facilities in Japan. I could reschedule some meetings on Thursday though—”

“Thursday’s the Senate hearing—”

“That’s this Thursday? I thought that wasn’t for another couple of weeks.”

“Nope, this Thursday. I could skip it though if you’d like. You’re such a bad influence on me, but if you insisted, I could—”

“Tony,” she says, and he quirks his lips in something resembling a smile.

He’d known when he’d moved to New York that they wouldn’t see each other as much, but he doesn’t think either of them realized just how infrequently they’d meet up. They’re good about leaving time open for each other, and when things get particularly crazy JARVIS isn’t shy about going into their calendars and rearranging things for them. In the past couple of months, however, they’ve both become so swamped that JARVIS hasn’t known what to cancel, too many of the events weighing in as equally important. It’s gotten to the point where they finally needed to schedule a call so they could pick and choose.

He misses Pepper. A lot. But it’s . . . 

Things were different when they saw each other every day, he admits it, they were. Easier, yes, but it isn’t the work he’s afraid of; he’s never turned his back on hard work. He puts up with the flying between coasts and coordinating their schedules and all the annoying aspects that come with a long distance relationship, because they’re small sacrifices in the overall scheme of things and he loves Pepper. 

What he isn’t sure he can handle is not being able to see her in 3D—scratch that, he has the technology to do 3D, easy peasy. It’s the fact that he can’t see her in person _throughout_ the day without setting up an appointment first, can’t see her eyes light up with fondness and exasperation and turn soft in that special way she reserves for him while they’re taking a coffee break or discussing some report or sneaking out of some meeting. 

And yes, they talk whenever they can, but those are typically quick exchanges on the go, with a longer conversation at night. Except that’s when they’re both tired and preoccupied, and all the stories they’ve collected over the day to share and laugh over don’t seem half as compelling or funny as they did a few hours ago. 

It isn’t the same anymore. And blame it all on his roots, but Tony doesn’t do well when he feels like he’s chasing after love and approval. Not that he is, because it’s Pepper after all, he knows that, but that’s what it _feels_ like, and he doesn’t mean to, but he wonders sometimes if maybe it’d be . . . easier, better, safer, _something_ if they’d . . . well, if they weren’t . . . 

“You know,” Pepper says, sighing and breaking his chain of thought, “maybe we should—”

“My apologies for interrupting, Ms. Potts, but you have a visitor, Sir.”

“Not now, JARVIS,” he says, not taking his eyes off Pepper’s face. There’s something in her voice, in her expression, and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, because it’s one thing to think about their relationship ending, another thing entirely to be confronted with the actual possibility. 

Although maybe not. Maybe that’s not what she’s going to say. He can’t be certain after all, even if he has his suspicions. He doesn’t have an answer ready though, doesn’t know what his response will be, because this is Pepper, this is—

“Unfortunately, Sir, the choice is out of my hands.”

Tony looks up when the door slides open.

“ _Coulson_?”

“ _Phil_?” Pepper gasps, and Tony might be stunned, but he has the presence of mind to move her to the big screen so she can see for herself.

“Good morning, Pepper,” Lazarus-walking says, that same bland smile on his face as always, like he hasn’t been dead for the past four months. “Tony,” he adds after a short pause, because they’d been on the verge of moving past titles before, and apparently _Coulson’s_ decided they should pick up where they’d left off. “I’m glad to see the both of you again.”

“You’re looking awfully robust for someone who was purported to be dead,” Tony says slowly, rising to a stand. Although robust is maybe stretching it, because Coulson’s a little paler than he’d used to be, definitely skinnier, and his arm is in a sling.

“ _Tony_!” Pepper says, scandalized, but he isn’t listening. He’d mourned Coulson’s death, mourned him and spent countless hours thinking about what he could’ve done differently, how he could’ve stopped it from happening if only he’d been faster repairing the engine, done more somehow, done _something_ —

“Well, technically, I was dead for a while. A couple of whiles actually,” Coulson says, with a half-shrug. “It was touch and go there for a long time. Turns out that getting stabbed with magical weapons messes up the healing process. But here I am, good as new.” 

He isn’t though, and Tony knows he should take a minute, should think and not just react, but he’d gotten used to Coulson, to his dry humor, deadpan threats and scary competency, and then for Fury to tell them that—

“ _Fury_.” 

“Now, Tony,” Coulson says, raising his free hand in a placating gesture. “Director Fury was just doing what he thought was necessary—”

“Yeah? Well you can tell Fury that he can take his ‘necessary’ and shove it—” 

“He was going to tell you the truth.”

“It’s been _four months_!” Tony roars.

“And I’ve been in the hospital for ninety percent of that time,” Coulson says calmly. “He— _we_ were going to tell you. We just wanted to be sure I was completely out of the woods first.”

In the silence that follows, Pepper asks, “And are you? Completely out of the woods?”

“Mostly. Enough. It’ll take more than a crazy demi-god from another world to get me out of your hair, that I can promise you.”

“Enough? What do you mean by that?”

Coulson rubs his hand over his mouth before resting it over the portion of his chest covered by the sling, although Tony doubts he’s even aware of it. “Enough to make a few house calls. Speaking of which, I know you’ll end up telling Pepper everything the first chance you get, so I won’t bother asking you to hang up, but we should pull Dr. Banner into this conversation. I’d prefer not to go over all the details twice, and the long and the short of it is that Loki’s back on Earth.”

===============

When Steve finds out that Loki’s been sighted he’s in a little town in Indiana that’s surrounded by cornfields as far as the eye can see. It’s the second time he’s been here. The first time he’d been lost, but this time he knows exactly where he’s going. He hasn’t been able to get the memory of the pie at Main Street Diner out of his head.

He’d been surprised when SHIELD agreed to let him leave New York City. Not that they’d been keeping him locked up, but they’d _suggested_ that it was in the best interests of everyone—Steve included—if he stayed on SHIELD property. At least until he was acclimated.

He’d gone along with it, because the world had changed, and it didn’t need him anymore, and what was he supposed to do? Think about all the people he’d left behind? Mourn his dead? Spend all his time trying to get caught up to a world where everything was too fast, too bright, too crazy? 

How could he when he wasn’t even meant to be there? When he was a ghost walking through the empty halls of his memory?

He’d been sure that Fury would be upset when he’d brought up taking off on his own, but Fury had looked at him contemplatively and said that it was a good idea, that Steve should get reacquainted with America and all that she stood for.

_Take as much time as you need. Until you can find your way back._

Heavy-handed metaphor aside, he’d done just that: left New York and hadn’t looked back for months, driving here and there, going along whatever road took his fancy. It had been easy to find kindness and beauty all over the United States, and it had helped to know that he’d had some small part in maintaining that. Occasionally he’d stopped his bike for a few days, resting and enjoying whatever sights or attractions a place had to offer. Washington, DC—with its abundance of museums and memorials—had made it hard to breathe, but he’d enjoyed the national parks tremendously, and several towns had tried to steal his heart. 

Boston in particular had been good for him. He’d been sitting on the T, taking advantage of the public transportation in order to avoid the people who thought driving was a sport and the person who was the most aggressive won the most points. He’d been gazing out at the city during one of the above-ground sections in the heart of downtown, lost in his thoughts and not really taking in what he was seeing. That had changed, however, once the sun had begun to set, the light reflecting off the river and the numerous skyscrapers in such a way that, for a short period of time, it’d been like being bathed in gold; everything turned warm and bright until it shone. Heaven would be something like this, he’d thought, all his questions, his anger and guilt shrinking under the weight of so much beauty. 

It’d been gone a few minutes later, and although Steve had tried to recreate the event, riding that same train for the next week, he’d never managed it. And while that had been disappointing, he hadn’t felt bitter for a change, had just felt lucky to have experienced it once. Who was he to demand more than that?

It had given him a lot of think about in the weeks on the road.

Now, when the call comes, he doesn’t know what the ringing is at first, because no one’s tried to contact him in all the months that he’s been gone. The only reason he hears the sound at all is because he’s stopped to get gas, and it takes a while for Steve to dig it out of his things. The phone had been Fury’s only stipulation before he’d left. Just in case. Steve had accepted it for the same reason, because he knows where his duty lies.

“Rogers,” he answers, thinking wistfully that it looks like he isn’t going to get that pie after all.

“Hill here, Captain,” says the brusque voice. “We need you back. Loki’s been sighted in Norway.”

The news makes him flinch, and he takes a few seconds to think _but Thor_ and _how_ and _can we win a second time_ before he says, “I’m on my way,” wondering how long it’ll take to get to New York if he drives nonstop.

But she says, “No need, we’re coming to you. ETA twenty minutes,” and waits long enough for him to acknowledge the statement before hanging up.

The whole point of carrying the phone was to make sure they could reach him, but there’s being able to contact him, and then there’s not needing to ask where he is because they already know. 

With everything that’s happening, it’s a selfish and petty thought, but he can’t help wishing that he’d never found out that he hasn’t been on his own the whole time after all.

===============

Tony doesn’t see Thor in the conference room, but then, he hadn’t expected to. He remembers how well the casual touching had gone with Steve before, so he simply nods to him with a low, “Cap,” high-fives Clint because why not, and takes the empty chair between Bruce and Natasha, scooching close to her, only to smile and scooch right on back when she arches an eyebrow. It’s so obvious that she’s in love with him. Too bad he’s taken—

He winks at her, leans back in his chair, and he doesn’t say another word until Fury arrives, Coulson and Hill behind him.

Tony feels slightly mollified after having witnessed both Bruce’s earlier reaction and now Steve’s response to Coulson. He hates being the last to know things, and considering how much Coulson idolized— _still_ idolizes ole Cap, he wouldn’t have kept the information from Stars and Stripes without good reason. Clint and Natasha don’t look surprised at all—but then they’re SHIELD and had probably known all along, the bastards—and now he’s wishing he hadn’t high-fived Clint after all.

He can’t help feeling a bit sorry for Steve though. They haven’t done him any favors by keeping him in the dark. There’s only so much you can take from a guy before one of two things starts happening: either he gets to thinking there isn’t a point hanging on to any of it, or he holds on that much tighter to what little he has left to the point of obsession. And sure, Steve and Coulson hadn’t exactly been close, but Steve’s last memory before being unfrozen was of war, and Coulson had been one more death on a pile of them. 

Although, hell, what does Tony know? Maybe seeing Coulson up and at ‘em again will be good for him. Maybe it’ll remind him that just because something breaks doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed.

But whatever Steve’s thoughts are on the matter, Tony can’t deny that he’s enjoying his immediate reaction. Watching Steve have it out with Fury, the two of them like a pair of angry tomcats with all the hissing and yowling and pent-up aggression, is better than going to the theater. The only thing he’s missing is the popcorn.

“How could you let us believe—”

“I did what I had to do—”

“You lied to us! Although I don’t know why I’m surprised, considering it’s not the first time—”

“It was a need-to-know situation, and you did _not_ need to know about the HYDRA weapons—”

“What else are you lying about?” Steve demands, and Tony has to hand it to him: the man does not back down from anything. “Is Loki really back, or did you call us all together for some other—”

“Loki was sighted late last night emerging from a bank in Norway,” Hill says dispassionately as a picture pops up on the main screen. 

Tony obviously needs to have a word with their tech guys, because the image is grainy as hell, and seriously, this is the best SHIELD can do? Still, poor quality aside, it’s obviously Loki. Getting thrown out of a window by someone kind of ensures Tony’s going to recognize his face the next time around.

“The bank itself was closed, and agents report that there were no signs of forced entry, or any entry at all for that matter. All the doors and windows were still locked, the security system was still engaged, and interior cameras show nothing out of the ordinary. No unauthorized transactions took place, and employees at the bank report nothing appears to be stolen from any of the lockboxes, although there’s no way to be certain until the owners come and verify the contents.”

“So then what was he doing there? And where is he now?” Steve asks, settling back into his chair with a heavy thump, all the fight knocked out of him. 

“Unfortunately, this is the extent of our information at the present time. All the exterior cameras in the area went offline last night for a span of five minutes. The only reason we have this image is because the camera that recorded it had been intermittently turning on and off for the past few days. Whatever Loki did to the other camera didn’t affect it.”

“Were the cameras hacked?” Tony asks, because that would indicate Loki’s doing the whole taking over people’s minds thing again, and while Loki’s staff had been destroyed closing the portal, who knows if that ability was attributable to the staff or to Loki? “Or was it a spell of some kind?”

“Our team hasn’t found any signs that hackers were involved,” Hill says, which _fills_ him with confidence. Tony makes a mental note to go check for himself later. “While that doesn’t rule out the possibility, the likelihood of Loki being able to find a hacker accomplished enough to pull off a job like this without leaving any traces behind is slim to none.”

“Yeah, because conveniently finding an astrophysicist in the same room as a bodyguard/spy/assassin was so hard for him last time,” Bruce mutters, and Tony gives him a fist bump. 

“Does that mean we don’t have to worry about an army of mind-controlled zombies this time around? No offense, Clint.”

“None taken,” Clint says dryly.

“Unfortunately, we won’t know the answer to that until we either locate Loki or he shows his hand.”

“Well, is there anything we _do_ know?” Steve asks, and Tony can hear the frustration he’s feeling mirrored in Steve’s voice. 

“We know that we are going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble if we don’t find Loki and soon,” Fury says, speaking to all of them. “We know that New York City is still recovering from the last attack and that if word of Loki’s return gets leaked, we’ll have a world-wide panic on our hands. We _suspect_ that after losing the Tesseract, Loki won’t be nearly as powerful as the last time we faced him, but we _know_ that we have a team of heroes that managed to defeat him once already, and we sure as hell believe that you can do it again.”

\-----

Without the gamma rays from the Tesseract to track, it takes a long time to figure out Loki’s whereabouts. Tony manages to access SHIELD’s files on the case—Fury found the first two devices he planted but not the third—and there really isn’t much there: a bunch of theories about why Loki’s in Norway, a list of artifacts and people SHIELD has under watch in case Loki approaches them, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. As helpful as wild-assed guesses are, Tony’s more concerned with figuring out the truth. He diverts some of his own resources to locate Loki, setting up algorithms to focus on multiple criteria, including mysterious hardware glitches as well as the normal facial recognition stuff, but as each day passes without any new information, he gets more and more antsy. It’s not like the guy nearly succeeded in taking over the world or anything. Totally nothing to worry about.

On the flip side, his relationship with Pepper is doing great. She hasn’t so much as hinted that she’d ever considered breaking up, and things are going so well that it would be easy to pretend the weird vibe he’d gotten from her had completely been his imagination. 

It would be, except for the fact that he makes a habit of not lying to himself, and besides, JARVIS records every incoming and outgoing call. Tony watches her expression over and over again as she says that handful of words, and while he comes up with hundreds of ways to finish her sentence—maybe we should go to that Italian place again, maybe we should run away to Tahiti—it always comes back to, maybe we should take a break, call it quits, give up, and he just doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t want to lose Pepper. Not her, not ever. Sure, things aren’t perfect, but nothing ever is, and there has to be a way to go back to the early days of their relationship when they’d been happy.

Never mind the fact that he feels like the guy who’s just been given a stay of execution because it turns out he has a terminal illness.

It’s such a fucking relief when they get another lead, this time in the form of a vacation picture taken two hours earlier that someone posts on their Facebook page. It’s a lovely photo and all, great lighting, but what matters is that Loki’s walking into a hotel about twenty steps away. 

Oh, and it happens to be a hotel in New York City.

Well, screw him and the horse he rode in on.

Tony’s tempted to fly there ahead of the team and get it over with. No waiting around for everyone to mobilize, no worrying that Loki’s going to be gone by the time they get there, just Tony against Loki, mano-a-mano. Or well Tony and his armor, brains and devilish good looks against Loki and his magic. Same difference.

He doesn’t do it, because even he’s not that impulsive, rash, reckless, take your pick, but oh, he’s _so_ tempted. Instead, he calls Fury to tell him he’s found Loki, and then he goes and gets ready.

===============

Steve winces as Tony starts drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Again. He’s not sure if he’s the only one that’s noticed, or if it just doesn’t bother anyone else, but it’s a metal suit and a metal table, and he doesn’t understand how he’s the only one annoyed by this.

He recognizes that Tony’s anxious to get to Loki; they all are. But it’s important to have a plan in place instead of rushing in without any forethought. There’s no time to evacuate the city—and even if they did, Loki would know immediately that they were coming—but they need to take steps to ensure people are safe and property damage is kept to a minimum. Yes, it increases the odds that Loki might get away, but it’s a risk they have to take.

“Snipers will be stationed here, here, here, and here,” Fury says, pointing to various locations on a holographic map (courtesy of Stark Enterprises). Steve remembers when they’d had to make do with a paper map and some plastic models and can’t help feeling a rush of isolation. No one else seems to think it’s out of the ordinary. “Barton will take up position here,” he says, pointing to the top of the building across the street from the hotel.

“Loki has his curtains drawn, so we’ll be walking into a blind situation. There’s movement inside the room, and one agent has confirmed visual, but we have no way of knowing if he has any company.”

“What about the hotel’s cameras?” 

“We’ve got people working on the footage, but we’re racing the clock. Loki’s scheduled to check out this afternoon—”

“What, like a normal person? He’s going to pay his bill with a credit card, too?”

“Not that it matters, but he paid up front in cash. Going back to our _extremely critical battle plan_ , there’s only so much of a low profile that some of you can maintain,” Fury says, eyeing Tony, who puts his hand to his dark red chest with its glowing circle of light and raises his eyebrows like he’s surprised he’s being called out. At least it’s a reprieve from the tapping. “So Iron Man will stay back until the rest of you are ready. Stark, do not, I repeat, _do not_ go in until we give you the signal that the floor’s secured. Do I make myself clear?”

“I am hurt and appalled that you think I can’t follow orders,” Tony replies. Steve knows it’s just his way, but does everything have to be a joke with him? 

“Oh, I know you follow the orders you want to follow. _Want_ to follow this one, Stark. We’ve only got one shot at this, people. Our biggest advantage is that Loki doesn’t know we know he’s back on Earth. Once we lose the element of surprise, all bets are off. We have hotel management staggering calls to the surroundings rooms, offering complimentary lunches, show tickets, what-have-you to get visitors to leave. This includes the three floors above and the three below Loki’s, which means we’ll have a little space if things get out of hand, but not much. We have to keep the fight contained.”

Steve takes a deep breath as Tony picks up the drumming right where he left off.

Focus. He just needs to focus on what Fury is saying and complete the mission. Once it’s over, he can leave again. New York isn’t the right place for him, not anymore. It’s disorienting being somewhere so familiar but so different, and he misses the openness of the road where most of the noise is drowned out by the rushing wind and no one on the street looks at him oddly and wonders if he might resemble someone they saw on the news. Focus, and then he can go. Maybe this time he’ll even refuse to take the phone.

Probably not though.

But instead of focusing, he watches as Tony rests his other arm across the back of Bruce’s chair, unthinking and easy, and he feels a pang of wistfulness. He knows that off the battlefield, he and Tony get along like oil and water, but he misses the camaraderie he’d had with Bucky and The Howling Commandoes, misses the claps on the back and the joking shoves, and it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him like that. 

Not that he wants Tony in particular to touch him, but no one else on the team is as relaxed with physical contact as Tony. They all accept Tony’s presence into their space, because Tony gets a special pass in this, just as with everything else it seems. Is it wrong to want the heavy weight of an arm around his shoulders, the warm press of a hand against his arm? Does it make him weak to want someone to hold onto and for a few seconds forget how cold and lonely and strange the world is now?

“—are secured, Romanov, Rogers and Banner will take up position at his door. Stark will be outside the window. On my mark, Stark will blast the windows, distracting Loki while Rogers and Banner make a frontal assault. Due to the limited size of the room, we can’t have too many of you in there at one time, especially when one of you is the size of the Hulk, so Stark will remain outside and Romanov will guard the door, joining the fight if necessary. Any questions?”

“Yeah, what are we going to do with him after we capture him?” Tony asks, leaning back in his chair. He picks up a pen and rolls it between his thumbs and pointer fingers, and Steve has just enough time to start to relax now that the annoying drumming has stopped when Tony begins swinging his chair side to side, making squeaking noises with each partial turn and sending a twitch down his spine. Doesn’t Tony _ever_ stop fidgeting?

“SHIELD will take custody of him,” Fury says, looking at him steadily.

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the only one you have clearance for.”

“What? We’re not seriously going through this again, are we?” Tony asks, planting his feet. Steve waits, teeth gritted, and sure enough, Tony starts beating out an uneven rhythm with the pen on the table. “You trust us enough to send us out against E.T.’s evil twin brother, but not enough to tell us the truth?” 

The tapping picks up speed. 

“Are you going to give him back to Asgard? Because they did such a great job of keeping him contained the first time around.”

“No. Loki will stay on Earth,” Fury says although he doesn’t go into further detail.

 _Tap, tap. Tap, tap._  
  
“Really? But what if Thor shows up, late to the party but wearing his dancing shoes? Are you telling me that you won’t give Loki up in order to avoid an inter-planetary incident?”

Steve knows he should be paying attention to the argument that’s going on right in front of him, but he can’t concentrate, not when the sound seems to get louder and louder the longer he listens.

“And speaking of trust, assuming Thor doesn’t show up and you guys drag Loki to Alcatraz or Azkaban or wherever, how are _we_ supposed to trust that you won’t pry secrets about magic and harnessing unnatural powers for—” 

“ _Must_ you keep doingthat?” Steve bursts out, banging his hand down on the table, needing it to just _stop_ —

The room’s finally quiet, but it’s _too_ quiet now, the silence ringing, and everyone’s watching him, the tension in the room that had built from Tony’s and Fury’s argument ratcheted even higher, all of it focused on him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says stiffly after a long pause, embarrassment, irritation and guilt tumbling all over each other as they try to take precedence at the forefront of his mind. “That was uncalled for.”

“No, my fault,” Tony says, slowly folding his hands in his lap. He’s got that look of vague amusement on his face that he wears like a mask, and Steve can tell he’s just pushed back whatever progress they’ve made coming to terms with each other. 

_Damn_ it.

He has to work with these people, _has_ to, because there are things that none of them can handle alone, and yes, they didn’t get off on the best foot, but he respects what Tony’s accomplished, has come to respect the man inside the suit as well, and it’s not Tony’s fault that he’s not Howard and this isn’t 1942. The only thing Steve has any right to blame Tony for right now is that he’s argumentative and can’t sit still, neither of which give Steve any right to jump down his throat. 

Steve swallows his anger, taking a deep breath before getting ready to apologize again.

“Motherfucker,” Fury says, nearly making him jump, and he glances over to see Fury with his hand to his ear. “Alright, people, we’ve got reports of odd activity in Loki’s room. No time for any more questions; we’re moving out.”

===============

“The best laid plans of mice and men,” Natasha murmurs, and Tony makes a sound of agreement, because Fury’s plan? Total fail.

They aren’t in Loki’s room. They aren’t even in the hotel. Or New York for that matter. Tony hasn’t the faintest fucking clue _where_ they are, but there’s a lot of marble and columns and gold all over the place, and it’s a bit ostentatious and old-school for him but hey, this is Loki they’re talking about.

“Well, Toto, it looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Tony says, and he sees Steve’s face turn toward him for a second before Boy Wonder’s glancing around the room again. Who knows if Steve gets the reference, and who cares really? Not Tony, that’s for damn sure.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steve asks, and wow, okay, it’s a testament to the day he’s having that Tony completely didn’t notice the lack of Big, Green and Angry. It’s probably safe to assume that the blast of light that had burst from Loki’s room when he’d hit the window with his repulsor was what had brought them here, and since Bruce had been with Steve and Natasha by the door, he should’ve been standing here too, just as clueless as the rest of them.

The fact that he’s not, however, is worrying. The fact that his absence isn’t the most important thing on the list is even more so. 

“Better question is where are we? JARVIS, you online?”

 _I am functional, Sir, however, I am unable to connect to my main servers._  
  
“Great. Does that mean you can’t determine our location?”

 _I am encountering some kind of interference—_  
  
“Of course you are. Fuck. Alright, keep trying to reconnect. See if you can jump on any comm channels while you’re at it and keep up a running scan for life signs and anything else important.” There aren’t any huge energy signatures like the Tesseract lying around, but the readings JARVIS is throwing up on his screen are making his shoulders itch. Science he understands, but all this magic shit is screwing with his tech, and he can’t help but take it personally. “Even if you aren’t able to utilize one of our satellites, a few seconds of warning could make a big difference.”

“No luck?” Steve asks, like he hasn’t been listening in on Tony’s half of the conversation, and Tony narrows his eyes, waiting for the follow-up remark about how Tony’s not worth anything without his tech.

It doesn’t come though, and okay, maybe they’ve moved past that stage, or at least they had at one point, but who the hell knows now? It’s one step back for every two steps forward, but Tony prefers to lead when he’s dancing normally, and really, when it comes down to it, Steve’s too big to dip.

“We should split up,” Natasha says before he gets a chance to respond however he’s going to respond, and Tony jumps on the change of subject.

“You do realize that’s the line used in every horror film right before nearly everyone gets hacked to death, don’t you? Seriously, are you trying to jinx us or something? Next you’ll be saying we need to check the basement, and all the lights will suddenly turn off!”

“I agree with Black Widow,” Steve says, and Tony huffs. Of course he does.

“Banner was standing right in front of Rogers and me, Stark,” she says. “Loki’s already managed to separate us, and this place is too huge for us to stick together if we want to have any hope of finding him or finding a way out before Loki _does_ show up.” 

“Fine, fine, but don’t come crying to me when Loki shows up carrying a machete and wearing a hockey mask.”

“What?” Steve asks, but Tony waves off the question.

“Turn your radios to station seven,” Natasha says, ignoring the both of them. “It’ll allow us to communicate between units.”

“What about the magical interference?”

“These were designed when we had the Tesseract, so that won’t be a problem. And to answer your next question, Stark, no, Fury didn’t know Loki could transport us to wherever it is we are, but he did want us to be able to talk when Loki started throwing his magic around.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

She smiles. “I know you do. Once we’ve separated, click this switch on your radio, and it’ll keep the channel open so the rest of us can hear if something happens. We’ll report back here in twenty minutes if we don’t find anything. Any questions? Good. Then I’ll take the east door, Rogers, you take west, Stark—”

“Door Number 3, I’ve got it. Alright, twenty minutes. Let’s do this.”

\-----

The problem with wearing a metal suit of armor is that it’s not exactly quiet, what with the servos and the repulsors and all. He basically comes off sounding like a one-man marching band as he flies, but that’s okay. Tony’s never been the shy type anyway.

Technically he doesn’t _need_ to knock over the statues or make that hole in the wall, but in his defense, Loki had done a lot worse to Stark Tower and Tony hadn’t even billed him.

Besides, of the three of them, he’s probably the one best equipped to confront whatever might be roaming these halls, so drawing the attention to him can only be a good thing.

Of course, “good” is a relative term.

“Ah, Mr. Stark. How kind of you to stop by,” Loki says, appearing the fuck out of nowhere two feet in front of him. It’s one of those times when Tony wishes he really didn’t have a heart like so many people claim, because he’s pretty sure his is going to pop right out of his chest. Instinct has him swerving in order to avoid colliding with Loki (although in hindsight, barreling into the guy would’ve been extremely satisfying), and he scrapes against the wall. Damn it. He’d just had this suit polished, too.

He half expects Loki to be gone by the time he turns around, but Loki’s still there, right in the middle of the damn corridor. Tony’s got both hands up and aimed, but the smile on Loki’s face isn’t changing at all.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, but be advised that anything you _don’t_ say will just give me that much more reason to kick your ass.”

“And here I thought you would be the sensible one,” Loki says, shaking his head. “Perhaps I should have spoken with the woman instead. From what I recall, she was quite adept at keeping a level head.”

“Better than you,” Tony says, calculating how long it should take Natasha and Steve to reach them. Loki seems to want to talk, so he’ll let him talk since it works in his favor. “She said you were ridiculously easy to manipulate.”

For a second, Loki’s face twists into something ugly, but then the expression’s gone, and he’s smiling once again, and wow, bipolar much? 

“It was unwise to underestimate my foes. Of course, I only knew her from Barton’s description.”

“I have a hard time believing Barton said anything bad about the Black Widow.”

“I did not claim that he did,” Loki says, idly swinging his staff, and seriously, what is with the guy and staffs? It’s positively Freudian. 

“Riiiight. You know, I understand the whole god complex thing to a certain degree, and even the ‘I think I can’ attitude a lot of villains have, but considering just how _soundly_ you got your ass kicked the last time, I would’ve thought you’d have learned not to mess with us,” Tony says, and he can just imagine the way Steve’s probably frowning at him right now, wherever he is, because the guy kind of takes the fun out of everything. But what’s the point of being a superhero if you can’t do a little trash-talking? 

“ _Mess_ with you? On the contrary, I’m doing you and yours a favor,” Loki says, brushing his hand over a marble bust of someone who makes Thor’s beard look like a five o’clock shadow as he walks by. 

“Yeah, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but we’re not so much into the ‘make the world perfect by enslaving everyone’ shtick.” 

“That is one of your race’s many flaws: the inability to recognize what is best for you.”

“And yet, here you are again. If you really believe we’re so inferior, then why are you here? Why us? Why our planet?” Waiting, schmaiting. He's beginning to hope Loki makes his move soon; he’s getting tired of holding his arms up. “The Tesseract isn’t even here anymore, so why are you? Unless _that’s_ the appeal? A damaged people for a damaged ruler?”

Loki comes to an abrupt stop, his expression turning hard and his eyes starting to glow a sickly green. “You know nothing. You _are_ nothing.”

“Oh, did I hit a sore point?” he asks, shaking his head sadly. “ _Darn it_.” 

This is it. Tony’s been on his best behavior—sort of—okay, not really—but while Loki knows how to dish out the slights and innuendos, he can’t seem to take them very well, and Steve and Natasha have yet to show, and now it’s too late. 

“You need to learn to respect your betters, Mr. Stark.”

Tony understands the importance of setting a mood, but the slight breeze that picks up from nowhere and starts giving Loki a Cover Girl moment is a bit much.

“You know, if I _had_ any betters, I might agree with you, but as it is, I don’t think it’s going to be much of a problem.”

A few seconds later, when Tony’s lying in a heap against the wall, he tells JARVIS, “Remind me to keep some quips saved for _after_ I kick the bad guy’s ass, will you?”

 _Certainly, Sir._  
  
He’s up and firing back, and he might possibly be ignoring the curses he can hear through the radio—Natasha could make a sailor blush, sheesh—but only because he has to keep his attention focused on the battle at hand. Loki’s energy blasts have a kick like a motherfucking mule, and he hasn’t really designed a suit made for dodging and twisting in such close quarters when it’s on the ground. It’s bulky after all—not that bulky, because it’s sleek and beautiful and he didn’t mean it, baby, he didn’t. In his skin-tight leather, Loki’s doing a much better job of avoiding Tony’s return shots—because hello, magic—and this is getting annoying.

Just as he thinks _fuck it_ and gets ready to tackle the bastard, Loki sort of shimmers, and suddenly there are seven Lokis. Shit, wasn’t one enough?

 _Heat signatures indicate the Loki second from the left is the only one that is actually present, Sir._  
  
Ha! Who needs magic? Science fucking rocks!

“Do you concede, Mr. Stark?” all the Lokis ask in unison, and if Tony had thought Loki was smug and supercilious before, seeing him in stereo just cements that fact for him. “This fighting is tedious and unnecessary.”

“Says the man who fired the first shot,” Tony says, as he blasts one of the illusions. No need to let Loki know he’s isolated the real him just yet.

“Yes,” Loki says, ducking his head and smiling almost charmingly, and Tony can maybe see why Thor is so easily led astray. “But you are tiresome enough to test even the patience of a god.”

“Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only when it’s true.”

“I almost hate to tell you this,” Tony says, bringing his arms around, “but flattery will get you nowhere.”

He fires and lets out a whoop when Loki goes crashing through the wall, because that is a sight that will never not be enjoyable.

Less enjoyable, however, is the bolt of searing energy that only misses his head due to some fantastic moves on his part. Although it makes the inside of the armor uncomfortably warm for a second, which considering the temperature controls he’s built into the suit, is rather impressive.

Scary. But impressive.

If Loki wants to take off the kid gloves, then Tony’s got just the thing for him. He’s only been holding back in order to give Steve and Natasha time to join in on the fun but—

Is that Clint on the balcony?

He deeply and sincerely regrets looking away when Loki’s next attack gets him right in the chest piece.

He liked it much better when Loki was the one going through the wall.

“Son of a—” 

The suit shuts down. Completely. No warning from JARVIS, no flickering lights, no annoying alarms, just total and utter blackness.

And that is so not good. That is the very definition of bad as a matter of a fact.

“JARVIS?” he grunts, but there’s no response, and shit, the _arc reactor_ —

His chest hurts but he hasn’t died of heart failure _,_ therefore the arc reactor must still be working, and yeah, now that his eyes are starting to adjust, he thinks he can see a faint glow seeping up the interior of the armor. 

It doesn’t change the ass-loads of trouble he’s in, however, because he can’t see, and no matter how much he tries, he can barely move, and ohhhh shit, Loki’s chanting something, and damn it, _now_ the gag finally makes sense. Maybe the staff had focused his power somehow or enhanced it, maybe it had a power all on its own, but he’d never seen Loki say anything to do any of his crazy spells before. Yet there he is, proof in the pudding, and _shit_ , if that was Clint on the damn balcony, why isn’t he _doing_ something?

 _Stop him,_ Tony thinks. _Shoot him! In the head, or in the ass, I don’t care, just pick a place! Make something explode. Do something. Do_ anything _._

But nothing happens, and fuck, he is so _screwed_.

 _Systems coming online_ , JARVIS says, his voice coming in crackles through the speakers. But it’s too little, too late, because while Tony’s screen sputters to life, the rest of the suit is still lagging behind, and fuck, reboots are a bitch.

He can’t believe the last thing he’s ever going to see is Loki, hands raised in the air as his chanting reaches a crescendo, an admittedly creepy black light coalescing around him. With the leather and all the special effects in place, Loki looks like a fucking extra from Lord of the Rings sans pointy ears, and maybe this is hell. Maybe he’s dead already.

If so, he’s going to fucking haunt Clint _forever_.

Except then Steve jumps down from who the hell knows where because Tony can’t move his damn head, tackling Loki so the chanting stops and the light winks out. Thank fuck. 

Tony counts down the seconds it takes for the suit to come fully online, and his last thought before he throws himself back into the fray is that he totally doesn’t give Steve enough credit. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve sighs as Tony makes a circuit around the periphery of the SHIELD cell where they’re being held in quarantine. Again. For about the 165th time. 

He’s tempted to offer him a book or a magazine, but it’s not like Tony doesn’t know what their entertainment options are, even if he’s not taking advantage of them. 

He wants to be annoyed. A part of him _is_ annoyed actually; he can’t help it. Tony’s not exactly the easiest person to be around, and that’s on a good day.

But it’s hard to work up any real anger at a person who is suffering so obviously.

Steve has read Tony’s report. He knows about Afghanistan. The whole experience of nearly dying, being kidnapped and then creating a weapon right under the terrorists’ noses had taken up a whole three paragraphs. Three paragraphs to encapsulate one of the most defining moments in a man’s life. He wonders sometimes how many paragraphs make up his own report, but he’s never asked Fury to see it.

It’s different though, reading something that happened in the past of someone you haven’t met yet, and seeing the scars it’s left behind on a man you know and have come to respect.

The situations then and now aren’t the same, because it’s SHIELD holding them, not terrorists, and they’re in quarantine, not prison. But that’s kind of tomatoes, tomahtoes when they’re sitting in a room without even the illusion of privacy—unbreakable glass surrounding them, an agent outside, and cameras pointing at them from every angle. He can’t begrudge Tony finding distraction through whatever means he can.

Truth be told, Steve’s not thrilled about their situation either. He has . . . a lot of problems sleeping sometimes. Not every night. But sometimes. And he occasionally has trouble getting out of bed when the enormity of what’s happened to him gets the best of him. There are other things, too. He doesn’t like to think about them, and he fervently hopes none of them happen while he’s in here with Tony.

If only Loki hadn’t managed to get away, maybe they could’ve forced him to reveal what spell he’d been casting. Then they’d know whether he’d finished and how—or even if—it’s going to affect the team. 

Instead, one second he’d been wrestling with Loki, and then the next the four of them had been lying on the floor of Loki’s New York hotel room with every SHIELD agent in the tri-state area pointing a gun at them—Loki nowhere in sight. 

They have no idea how Loki managed to kidnap them or how he sent them back, and while Steve thinks he interrupted the spell before Loki finished, there’s no way to know for sure. 

Nonetheless, he can’t help but wonder _why_ Loki let them go. It wasn’t like they’d made any headway in figuring out how to escape on their own. Conceivably, Loki could’ve kept them trapped there forever, or used the same spell he’d employed to transport them there in the first place and moved them to another location until he could attack them when he was better prepared.

Instead, Loki had delivered them back to SHIELD, apparently unharmed, and it makes Steve extremely wary. He doesn’t know anything about magic, but it’s possible that Loki can only use that spell to send them to that particular place and back. Perhaps Loki had acted rashly by taking an opportunity to attack them, even though he hadn’t been ready. Or maybe Loki had simply miscalculated, assuming they’d be easily defeated without the Hulk and Thor. In either of those cases, Steve can potentially see Loki wanting to get rid of them as quickly as he could.

The prospect that worries him, however, is what if the reason Loki had sent them back was because he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do?

Steve doesn’t know, and now it’s just a waiting game to see if anything happens.

He supposes it was actually a good thing that Bruce hadn’t been taken with them, because Steve hates to think how Bruce would’ve reacted to having that many weapons aimed at him upon their return. It’s strange though that Bruce had been left behind while Clint had gone with them, even if none of them had been aware of it at the time. 

Quarantining them is easier as a result, since SHIELD only has one room on the Helicarrier that can potentially handle someone with more than the average human’s strength, so it makes sense that Steve is in here. Just in case. Natasha and Clint have been taken to individual cells deeper within the ship, which Fury _says_ will hold them, although Steve’s not so sure. They aren’t SHIELD’s best agents without reason. Tony though, well, Tony’s in there with him because SHIELD only has one room that they can guarantee _Tony_ can’t escape from somehow either, and this is it.

At one point, Tony had been eyeing one of the light panels and had muttered, “My soul for a paperclip,” and Steve began to get an inkling of why SHIELD had gone to such efforts to make sure there isn’t a single mechanical device lying around. 

Not that Tony _should_ be actively trying to figure out a way out of there, but Steve can understand why he’s doing it anyway.

“Are you sure you don’t want some lunch?” 

“I’m fine.”

“I mean, I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s not that bad if you—” 

“I’m _fine,_ ” Tony snaps, even though that’s clearly not the case, and Steve has to hold back a sigh.

It’d be simpler if they were friends, because then he could try to offer some kind of comfort, but they’re not; they’re barely starting to qualify as teammates, and there’s just something about Tony that brings out the worst in him. Speaking of which . . . 

“About earlier,” he says, despite the fact that it’s even more awkward now, hours afterward, although at least they don’t have a huge audience to watch him fumble for the right words to say. “I wanted to apol—”

“Don’t do that,” Tony says, not looking at him.

“What?” he asks, completely derailed.

“Don’t be the nice guy.”

“I’m not trying to be—”

“Oh, wait, that’s right. You _don’t_ try to be nice to me. Which is fine, by the way, because as I was saying, I don’t need you to be nice, so don’t bother bringing up this morning. I’m not interested.”

“Alright,” Steve says after what feels like forever. He’s struggling not to say anything harsh back, because he _is_ trying to be kind, even if Tony doesn’t believe him or want that from him. He can’t help feeling guilty though, because he hasn’t gone out of his way to be friendly to Tony before this. He doesn’t understand what it is about Tony that affects him the way it does, but he needs to stop reacting to it, because that’s what they always do: get into these arguments that start over nothing but that somehow escalate until they’re about to come to blows. For two people who barely know each other, they’re incredibly good at saying the very cruelest thing possible. “I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“You’re right some of the time.”

“Most of the time.”

“Some of the time.”

“A lot of the time.”

Steve shrugs.

“I’m taking your silence as agreement, just so you know,” Tony says, not that Steve’s exactly surprised by that.

“You should eat,” he says instead, offering Tony his plate. “It really isn’t all that bad, although I’m not making any promises the longer you let it sit out.”

Tony’s eyes flick down to the food and then back up.

“I don’t like people handing me things.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, because really, what else can he say without starting a new argument? “I’ll just set it down here then.”

The only place to sit is on the bed—one bed that’s definitely not big enough for the both of them; figuring out sleeping arrangements is going to be interesting—so Steve takes one end and places the tray in the middle, letting out a little breath of relief when Tony finally settles down on the other side.

Tony makes a face as he pokes at the food, but he takes a bite, then another, and Steve leans back against the wall and enjoys the relative quiet and stillness for as long as it’ll last.

“I don’t handle . . . boredom . . . well,” Tony says eventually, sectioning off another bite of the meatloaf but not eating it. He doesn’t look at Steve, but Steve can see the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers clench around the spork.

It doesn’t feel right watching Tony like this. Maybe because it’s so at odds with how Tony normally behaves, brash and unapologetic. Or maybe it’s because Steve can empathize in a way he wishes he could deny. Whatever the reason, Steve doesn’t like it. At one time, there might have been a small part of him that appreciated the sight, but not now. 

“Really?” Steve replies, making his voice as inoffensive as possible. Tony’s eyes flicker up, and Steve tries to look like Tony’s admission surprised him.

If the way Tony’s lips twitch is any indication, he’s failed, but all Tony says is, “Shocking, I know,” in a wry voice, and Steve decides then and there that he can do this. He can—they aren’t friends, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be. And he wants to. Sort of. Maybe more for Tony’s sake than for his own, although . . . 

It’d be nice to have a real friend again. Even if it is Tony. 

Assuming Tony will let him.

“Alright, well, maybe I noticed,” he says.

Tony looks at him but doesn’t say anything, and Steve scrambles around to think of something to say that’ll keep Tony engaged without getting into dangerous territory. It’s much harder than he’d have thought since their relationship has been one fight after another and—

Tony starts to turn away, and to hell with it. If that’s what they do best, then maybe Steve can use that to his advantage and just try his best to keep it light.

“Really, it’s a good thing you stopped pacing finally, because if I’d had to spend another minute watching you go back and forth, I would’ve had to do something drastic, and considering all the effort I went to in order to _save_ you from Loki, I would’ve felt pretty bad about it afterwards.” 

Tony stares at him for a second while Steve tries to _will_ him to react, to make Tony take the comment in the teasing way it was meant and to let himself be distracted by Steve. And then Tony takes a deep breath and arches an eyebrow, saying, “Be careful, Steve. Your sense of humor is showing.”

“I have a great sense of humor,” he protests, more relieved than he would’ve expected that Tony’s going along with it.

“You have _a_ sense of humor,” Tony concedes and continues before Steve can come up with a rebuttal. “And anyway, you ‘would’ve had to do something?’ Like what? Frown at me forbiddingly? Give me a stern lecture? Oooh, scary.”

“You’re just saying that because you know I’d win in a fight.”

This time, both of Tony’s eyebrows go up. “Are you trash talking me? Seriously? _As if_ , Grandpa! You don’t know this about me, but I’ve got some serious moves.”

“Tony, I’ve seen your moves outside of the suit,” he says, trying not to smile.

“What are you implying there, Steve? I mean, okay, take the suit out of the equation, and maybe in _comparison_ I’ve got the shorter end of the stick, but that’s me against _Captain America_ , which, you know, is hardly fair. Put me against any normal Joe on the street, and I’m _ferocious_. You’d be amazed.”

“I’m sure I would be,” he said solemnly.

“Is that sarcasm I hear? Because it sounds distinctly like sarcasm. Which, I don’t know, doesn’t that go against your code or something? To always do your best, help little old ladies cross the street, be prepared for any contingency, that type of thing?”

“I think that’s the Boy Scouts.”

Tony looks at him significantly.

“What?”

“Admit that you were, and are still, totally a Boy Scout.”

“I _wanted_ to be a Boy Scout,” Steve corrects, and now he kind of wishes he hadn’t finished eating already so he could have something to do. Tony, he notices in bemused amusement, has been cutting his meatloaf into perfect geometric shapes without even seeming to pay attention to what his hands are doing. “I was always too sick though to do anything though.”

There’s a slight, awkward pause, although it can’t have been a secret to Tony that Steve hadn’t been the strongest of kids growing up. It actually makes Steve feel a little better for knowing as much as he does about Tony, because at least this way they both understand what’s brought them to where they are today. Finally Tony says, “Well, you weren’t really missing much.”

“ _You_ were a Boy Scout?”

“I’m hurt,” Tony says, pouting and putting a hand to his chest, “that you say that with such disbelief in your voice. What, I’m not Boy Scout material?”

“Well, you’re . . . you,” he says, gesturing and trying to encompass all the _Tony_ -ness and making Tony laugh in the process.

“Yeah, it only lasted for like a month,” Tony says, shrugging. “You should’ve seen the birdhouse I made though. It even had an elevator in case they wanted to take a break from all the flying. I know, right?” Tony says in response to whatever expression is on Steve’s face, although mostly he thinks he’s just blinking a lot. “I thought about adding a Jacuzzi bird bath, but I changed my mind at the last minute.” 

Tony moves his tray to the ground, and Steve gets a glimpse of it as it passes. Tony’s only taken a few bites, and the rest of the food has been arranged to create what looks like a diagram of an engine of some kind, with slivers of overcooked green beans making up the wiring and—

“But enough with the reminiscing. You play cards?”

“I—yes, a bit,” Steve says, because being in a war can be a whole lot of hurry up and wait, and there really hadn’t been much else to pass the time.

“A bit, eh?” Tony drawls. “Just enough to be dangerous? Let’s see what you got, Soldier Boy.”

What Steve’s got is a whole lot of nothing. He has a horrible poker face, shows every thought without even noticing, and it’s not long before Tony is snickering during each hand.

“How are you so bad at this?” Tony asks, and he actually sounds impressed.

“It’s a gift,” Steve says gloomily, which just sets Tony off again.

Tony takes mercy on him, and they switch to Blackjack with Tony dealing, but while that starts off well, it quickly devolves into a massacre. Tony is winning every single time, until finally—

“You’re counting cards, aren’t you?” 

“No!” Tony replies, looking offended. “Well, yes. But more importantly, I’m counting how many hands it takes before you catch on.”

“I can’t believe you cheat at cards,” he says, shaking his head.

“It’s only cheating if you get caught.”

“You did get caught!”

“I _let_ myself get caught; there’s a difference. Besides, it’s not like we’re playing for high stakes here,” Tony says, looking down at the pile of paper scraps that make up their winnings.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Steve tells him sternly and pulls the deck towards himself.

Ten minutes later when Tony catches him dealing from the bottom, he bursts out laughing and throws all his cards at Steve.

===============

Tony watches Steve sleep and tries not to feel like a total creeper. Too late, but what the hell. There aren’t exactly a lot of options to keep busy since SHIELD is withholding any material that he could potentially make into a weapon of some kind (so just about everything). He’s not relaxed enough to be able to read, he’s not going to design anything that SHIELD will be able to see through all the damn cameras (although it’d serve them right if he designed something and then left out critical components so they’d just have a dud on their hands, because that shit would be hilarious) and even he gets tired of the pacing eventually. All that leaves is staring.

In this case, at Steve, but beggars can’t be choosers.

He needs to do _something_ after all. His sleep schedule is already messed up enough that falling asleep unless he’s beat from working for like thirty hours straight is nearly impossible. Or exhausted from battle. Or relaxed from plenty of orgasms. Or pleasantly tipsy. Whatever. He can’t help it if he’s not tired right now.

The last thing he wants to do is think about the situation he’s in. It’s not that he’s claustrophobic or anything—otherwise, he’d never be able to pilot the suit—he just has a thing against enclosed spaces where there’s a lock on the door and people aren’t letting him leave and those same people are planning to do potentially very bad things to him depending on his performance. He really doesn’t think that’s too unreasonable when it comes down to it.

Two days of being under surveillance. Two days. Fuck his life.

Logically, he gets it. Mind control had been part of Loki’s coup attempt before after all, and maybe he’s going that route again. Maybe it’s something even worse. Tony can even agree theoretically that it’s a smart idea to keep them under observation. But thinking it and living it are two separate things, and so yeah, staring at someone when he’s sleeping doesn’t really fall into the “good life decisions” category, but he’s okay with that.

If nothing else, Steve makes for tasty eye candy, and Tony definitely feels like he deserves something nice after the day he’s had.

He doesn’t know what it says about him that more than being transported to another world or dimension or whatever, the weirdest part was Steve being friendly.

He knows why. The why is painfully obvious. 

He just doesn’t know _why_.

Because it hadn’t been a slightly awkward five or ten minute conversation where Steve had tried to get his mind off things, and then when that worked, gone back to being his normal, overbearing self. Steve was making an effort. Steve is continuing to make an effort, or at least he had been until he’d finally fallen asleep, and even then he’d taken the floor, letting Tony have the bed.

(“Steve, there’s enough room here for the two of us. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but—”

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, really. You can be the big spoon.”

“The floor’s fine.”

“I’ll even forego sleeping in the nude.”

“The _floor_.”)

And Tony had played along with the whole “we’re all good friends here,” because it’d been helpful at first, because having him go a little crazier than usual wouldn’t have been good for either of them. Even if he’d mostly wanted to say nothing more than “fuck you, I don’t need your pity” and then start throwing things for good measure. But he’s mature enough to not cut off his nose just to spite his face, so he’d been willing to call a cessation to hostilities for the time.

Except then he’d found out that Steve had an actual personality, which, hell, maybe _that_ qualified as the weirdest thing today, and without him knowing how it’d happened, things had kind of snowballed from there.

It’s easy to talk to Steve. Appallingly so. They fall into a rhythm, bantering back and forth, each getting their fair share of zingers in, although Tony’s totally in the lead, because c’mon, it’s Steve.

Not that there hadn’t been rough patches during the day. This was the two of them, after all; of course there’d been rough patches. But after each one, a few minutes of uneasy silence would go by, and then he or Steve would introduce a new subject and it’d all start up again.

There had been a part of him that had been waiting for Steve to say something cutting or be the jerk Tony knows and dislikes, but it had never happened. Which didn’t mean that it wouldn’t. But . . .

He watches Steve sleep and remembers thinking he didn’t give Steve enough credit. Maybe that’s truer than he’d realized.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay, seriously, what is with you and baking?” Tony asks as he grabs a blueberry muffin off the cooling rack in Steve’s apartment. “Because this body”—he makes a circular motion across his torso and gets sugar sprinkles all over in the process—“doesn’t happen by itself, you know, and all these baked goods means I have to stay in the gym for an extra twenty minutes every day.”

“No one’s forcing you to eat my muffins,” Steve says, only to have Tony snicker, though he’s not sure why that’s so funny. Of course, a lot of Tony’s humor is somewhat inexplicable. It doesn’t make him any less entertaining, strangely enough.

Steve hadn’t really known what to expect after they’d gotten out of isolation. He’d hoped that he and Tony would be more agreeable towards each other and that maybe they’d be able to bond more during each successive Avengers’ operation until the friendship that had developed while they were in containment became something real.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was for Tony to show up at his apartment two days after they’d been released and drag Steve to Central Park with the excuse that he wanted a hot dog. Not just any hot dog though, oh no, one of the best hot dogs ever, a mini-explosion of perfection in your mouth, and he needed Steve because the vendor refused to serve Tony because of the Sauerkraut Incident of 2010, which Tony denied being his fault.

But after that Tony had just started dropping by randomly—any time of the day and night, sometimes two, three days in a row, sometimes with days in between. He always had somewhere he wanted to go or something he wanted to rail about, and he’d demand Steve drop whatever it is he was doing in order to pay attention to him.

It’d been rough at first.

_“Tony, I can’t go on a walk to Central Park right now,” he says, trying to be patient even though it’s the third time in as many minutes that he’s refused._

_“Why_ not _?” Tony asks, and he shakes the bag of bread he’s brought. “We can feed the geese. I bought no-artificial-ingredients-added, whole grain, organic and possibly gluten-free bread, although I only skimmed the label, so I might be wrong about that last bit.”_

_“You—what?” he asks, lifting his head although his attention is still mostly focused on the reports in front of him. There has to be something in there that they can use to find Loki._

_“Only the best for my feathered friends.”_

_He takes a deep, calming breath, but it hadn’t really worked when he’d done it thirty seconds ago, and it helps even less this time around. “I’m busy right now, but maybe later, alright? I’ve got to finish reading through all the debriefs first. Phil said he thought he could feel a humming in the air right before we disappeared, and Bruce—”_

_“But this is the best time of day for—”_

_“Can’t you be serious for one second?” he bursts out, crumpling the papers in his hand. He doesn’t mean to, but his temper is always near the surface lately. “Loki’s still out there, laughing at us and plotting who knows what, and I’m_ trying _to find him, I’m trying to—”_

_“Steve.”_

_“I don’t understand how you can act like nothing’s happened! You know what he’s capable of, and I, for one, don’t want—”_

_“I do know what he’s capable of; I was there.” Tony pushes his sunglasses down until they’re covering his eyes and sets the bag of bread on the table. “But it’s been weeks, Steve, and I’ve gone through the reports, JARVIS has gone through them, and Fury and Coulson and Hill and pretty much everyone who’s anyone in SHIELD, and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere. I’m still trying to find him; we all are, but I’m tired of putting my life on hold waiting for Loki to pop his head up again.”  
_  
That time when Tony had left he hadn’t come back for over a week, and Steve had been surprised by how much he’d missed him—how relieved he’d been when he’d come back. It had taken a while, but Steve had finally realized that Tony was right; a person can only live in a heightened state of stress for so long before he finally moves on, and that’s what Steve has done. Even if moving on in his case means baking a lot, working out, not sleeping, and staring off into the distance as he tries not to think about things he can’t stop thinking about. 

And of course, talking to Tony. He looks forward to Tony barging into his life now, with what is turning into an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm.

He interacts with other people, too, of course. Clint and Natasha come by between assignments, although Natasha does most of the talking while Clint looks out the window and only adds his two cents now and then. Bruce stops in as well but he’s frequently out of the city, talking to anyone whose research has caught his attention or visiting his girlfriend. Fury drops in at least once a week for an hour or so, although Steve never completely relaxes around him—feels like he’s talking to a teacher or a psychologist—and Coulson, too, calls on him when he can.

Tony, though, comes around the most frequently and stays the longest, and his visits never feel like obligation or pity.

“Steve, if you insist on displaying your muffins before me in all their immaculate glory, then you can’t blame me for being unable to resist,” Tony says, grabbing another one, because he says they’re even better when he’s eating two at a time. “Tomorrow you should make those chocolate chip toffee cookies that Pepper likes so much. She’s flying into town and I promised I’d bring some.”

“You can’t just volunteer my services, Tony,” Steve says sternly, although he doesn’t actually mind. It’s mostly to cover up the disappointment he feels upon hearing Pepper’s coming. Not that he doesn’t like Pepper. He doesn’t know her all that well, but she seems smart and funny, and he’s really enjoyed the few times Tony has insisted Steve join them for dinner. The problem though is that Tony never spends much time with Steve when Pepper’s around—which is completely understandable and appropriate since she’s Tony’s girlfriend and is only able to stay for one or two days each visit. Tony is incredibly busy, and the fact that he takes twenty minutes here and an hour there to talk to Steve is always appreciated and welcome. But because Tony only has those small blocks of free time, they go to Pepper instead of Steve. As they should. However.

“Pffft, you take requests all the time! I know SHIELD has a list up specifically so people can ask for their favorites.”

“That’s just . . . I can’t eat everything by myself,” Steve says and then spends a little more time than necessary getting the last batch ready. So what if he drops off plates at some of the communal kitchens in the building? And at the nearby homeless shelter. And the children’s home that he found in the Lower East Side, because the orphange he’d grown up in had been torn down years ago. He’s had a lot of time on his hands while they wait for Loki to show up again; it’s already been three months, and he’s trying to be productive. 

The therapist Fury had made him see for a while had been the one to suggest picking up a hobby, and for a while, Steve had begun drawing again, faces from the past coming alive once more under his pencil. But that had done more harm than good in the end, because he didn’t have any trouble remembering the people he’s left behind. His problem is that he can’t forget. 

So the art supplies had gone into a box at the back of his closet, something he only takes out when the images pile up in his head and scream to be let out, and then he spends hours and hours drawing, stowing the paper away as soon as he’s finished without even looking at what he’s created.

Baking though, baking is calming and easy. It makes his apartment warm and fills the air with the scent of spices and sugar. It reminds him of his time at the orphanage when he’d decorated birthday cakes, because he’d had a steadier hand than any of the caregivers. Baking never makes him want to bash his knuckles against a punching bag until something finally gives. Furthermore, in the end, there are baked goods that he can share that brighten people’s day, and that’s always a positive thing. Speaking of which . . .

“Besides, because there _is_ a list, that means your requests should go at the bottom.”

“Steeeeeeeeve,” Tony whines, and Steve has the oddest urge to brush some of the crumbs off his goatee. “But I’m your _favorite_.”

“You are, are you?” he asks, but he doesn’t bother refuting it when they both know it’s true. He obviously needs to find more people to spend time with. “Why don’t you just buy her some cookies? I’m sure there are plenty of bakeries in the city that not only sell the kind she likes but also do a much better—”

“See, that is where you’re wrong, Betty Crocker! Oops, sorry, habit,” Tony says, waving his hand to clear the name-calling. “Everyone knows a gift is all about the amount of attention and effort that goes into it, and no one puts as much love into their cookies as you, Steve.”

“Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to put in all the attention and effort since you’re the one dating Pepper?”

“Degrees of separation, Steve. You making the cookies is the next best thing to me making them, better in fact because not only will they be edible, they’ll be downright delicious. You like Pepper, don’t you? You want her to actually be able to eat the cookies, right?”

“You realize how outrageous you are, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Steve smiles, shaking his head. “Fine, but just this once.”

“Just this once,” Tony repeats, somehow looking smug and angelic at the same time, and Steve wistfully remembers when he used to find Tony overbearingly annoying.

“I mean it, Tony!”

“I know,” Tony says, holding his hands up. “I know.”

It’s one of the days where Tony can’t stay too long. Steve tries not to feel bad when Tony gets up half an hour later, even though they won’t see each other for another few days, maybe even a week depending on Tony’s schedule. It wouldn’t matter so much normally except Steve’s been feeling particularly lonely recently.

It must not work too well, because Tony asks, “You okay?” while he’s reaching over for a banana nut muffin because he always likes to take one for the road. 

Steve thinks Tony’s great, but that doesn’t blind him to the truth, and Tony’s not exactly the type of person who broaches topics like feelings unless he absolutely has to, so the fact that he’s doing so in this instance means Steve’s doing a horrible job of hiding his unhappiness.

“I’m fine,” he assures him. “I just stayed up the past two nights watching marathons of all the Star Wars movies and then several Star Trek episodes.” Which is true, although it’d been less that he’d stayed up and more that he hadn’t been able to fall asleep.

That just gets them started on a debate about the merits of Star Wars versus Star Trek, and it’s another hour before Tony glances at the clock, curses, and has to run out.

“I’ll stop by in the morning for my cookies,” Tony says as he’s halfway out the door; he’s telling and not asking, and the only reason Steve lets him get away with it is because he wants to see him tomorrow, even if it’s just for a few minutes. 

===============

Steve looked terrible, Tony thinks as he maneuvers around traffic. He hates driving in cities, but Happy has the day off—although why he’d want time away from Tony, he doesn’t know—so he’s on his own. It’s probably a good thing though, since Happy doesn’t appreciate waiting around for him when he’s later than he said he was going to be, and Tony wouldn’t have missed Steve waxing poetic about R2-D2 for anything.

But that just reminds him of how exhausted Steve looked, face drawn and looking as if he hasn’t had a decent meal to eat in forever, and how does that work exactly when Steve makes enough food to make a grizzly bear preparing for winter jealous?

At first, Tony had thought it was just the horrible fluorescent lights. The longer Tony had looked, though, the more he’d been convinced it was something else until he’d finally blurted out the question.

And okay, sure, yeah, he shouldn’t have let himself get distracted by Steve’s obvious ploy to change the subject, but Star Wars versus Star Trek will always be important, and a man has to have priorities in life.

Tony knows Steve’s frustrated by the way things are going in the hunt for Loki, which is to say, not at all. It’s not for lack of trying though. SHIELD’s been pulling in favors all over the world, but no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, and there isn’t so much as a whisper that Loki’s planning something. It has everyone on edge, although most of the team is able to channel their energy into other pursuits: Tony’s been creating new and lethal designs for the suit, Bruce is busy with his own research, and Clint and Natasha have actual jobs with SHIELD, so they’re off being stealthy until they’re needed. That just leaves Steve, who spends way too much time inside his apartment alone. 

Tony visits him when he can—hell, he visits him when he can’t, but what use is being rich if you can’t do what you want—but it’s just not enough. Steve deserves better than being cooped up in an 845 square foot apartment on SHIELD property with nothing to do. He should’ve accepted Fury’s offer to put him on the official payroll instead of doing the whole Phantom of the Opera routine. Okay, so instead of singing advice, he hands out cookies, and instead of being disfigured, he’s incredibly hot, but whatever, the comparison totally works.

Of course, if Steve had accepted Tony wouldn’t get to get to see him even a quarter as often, so call him selfish but he’s glad that Steve stuck around.

Still, maybe he should’ve done more to encourage Steve to go out by himself, no matter what Steve said. Steve doesn’t even really have neighbors, because he and Fury had decided long ago that it was better to keep him relatively isolated while he was getting used to everything, and they’d never moved him somewhere new when he got back. It doesn’t help that Steve’s so conscious of how _different_ he is that he rarely reaches out to anyone, and any SHIELD agent who knows who he is can’t seem to get over the “oh, fuck, it’s Captain America” to make the first move.

It’s such a shit show, and he hates that Steve’s miserable because of it.

It’s only as Tony is drumming his fingers against the elevator rail while he waits for his floor and half-heartedly considering the pros and cons of increasing the speed of the elevator another couple miles per hour that he thinks maybe it’s time to offer Steve some room at Stark Tower. It’d be exponentially better than what he has now, and he’d be a lot closer for Tony to harass whenever he wanted. Plus, Tony would make him actually decorate this one; make him get his own pillows and throw rugs and all the tiny knick-knacks that Tony’s never personally liked but knows other people appreciate. He’d make him buy a bed he could actually stretch out on instead of the standard issue extra-long twin he’s sleeping on now, and seriously, how is anyone supposed to get a good night’s rest on a mattress that’s like five inches thick?

It’d be good for Steve, and it’s not as if Tony doesn’t have the room. When he’d had the building repaired after the attack, he’d included floors with specifications for each member of the team, kind of as a joke, kind of because he hadn’t wanted everything to be under the control of SHIELD if the Avengers were needed regularly. He hadn’t even really _liked_ Steve then—although it’s weird to think of that now, when Steve seems like an integral part of his life—

“Pepper!” he says as he steps out of the elevator and sees her looking out the window. “You’re early! Couldn’t wait to—”

“Tony,” she says, turning around, and shit, she looks even worse than Steve, mouth pinched, eyes red like she’s been . . . crying . . . . 

Oh, he thinks and stops where he’s standing. This must be it then.

“We need to talk.”

===============

It’s almost two in the morning when Tony comes back. Steve’s sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of warm milk and listening absently to the familiar voice of the anchorman in the background. He wonders if he could get away with eating a few more of Pepper’s cookies or if he’s going to need to make another batch when he hears the knocking.

Or more accurately, the pounding, loud and abrupt, and he barely manages to keep from knocking his mug over, his heart racing like he’d been running miles instead of just startled by a sudden noise.

He hates it when this happens, when something will set him off for no reason and have his senses thrumming on high alert. He hates that he’s out of control, of his mind, of his body, and maybe he’s not in a warzone anymore, but sometimes he feels like he never left.

It’s the sound of Tony calling his name that snaps him out of it, although he has to take another second to take a breath and calm down a little. He normally handles Tony dropping in so late better, because Tony’s been known to swing by on his way back from some event or another and Steve’s gotten used to it. Tony always apologizes, even if he never means it, and looks so happy to see Steve that he can’t be too annoyed.

This time, though, he hadn’t expected Tony to be back until much later. He was supposed to be completely alone until then, and he feels raw, scraped thin, because he doesn’t want to be this way, doesn’t want Tony to see him this way. 

He gathers the tatters of his composure around himself, shoving his melancholy thoughts to the back of his mind where they belong, and answers the door. He doesn’t think Tony forgot anything, but that’s the only reason he can think of for why he’d be there. He completely doesn’t expect to see Tony standing in the hallway, still wearing the clothes from earlier and drunk off his gourd, if the smell and the swaying are anything to go by. He’s holding a bottle—closed, thankfully—and Steve’s going to have to take that away from him if he doesn’t want Tony to get even worse.

“I think,” Tony says, the words a little too clearly articulated, “that you should move into Stark Tower.”

“What?” Steve asks, pulling Tony inside. “What are you talking about? Tony, why are you—”

“It’s a great idea! I thought it up, and I am a genius, therefore it is a great idea. QED. Keep up, Steve.”

“Sit,” Steve orders and pushes Tony down into the chair he’d just vacated. He takes the bottle from Tony without too much of a fight and hides it in the cupboard in the hopes that out of sight equals out of mind. Then he gets a glass of water and places it in front of Tony before taking the other chair. “Now explain.”

“I was thinking about it after I left earlier. This,” Tony says, gesturing all around, “is a hovel. You live in a hovel, Steve. I,” he says, thumping his chest, “am rich and feel insulted on your behalf. I also have lots of room in the Tower. Lots of room. Like, tons. You could take one of those rooms—or a bunch of them, I don’t mind—and then you would no longer have to live in a hovel, and I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.”

“This isn’t a hovel, Tony. This apartment is quite nice actually. And you don’t have to worry about me, because I’m fi—”

“I brought champagne,” Tony says, pointing towards the kitchen where Steve had taken it. “To celebrate being roomies. We should have some. Drink with me, Steve.”

“Tony, I can’t move in with you,” he says a little helplessly, because Tony is avoiding talking about something, but Steve has no idea what. He hopes that maybe by addressing the subject Tony _is_ willing to talk about, they might eventually get to the real reason why he’s there.

“Why not? It’s not like there’s anything keeping you here.”

Hearing it so plainly out of Tony’s mouth hurts a lot more than it should, particularly because it’s a thought he’s had himself during his darker moments.

“But I’m over there,” Tony goes on, drunk and oblivious, and Steve’s almost relieved about that. “And Bruce. I even have room for Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, and it’ll be like a mini-reunion! Or like maybe a really messed up summer camp, I don’t know. Besides the point. _C’mon_ , Steve. You know I’m just going to pester you until you agree. I’m very persistent. Ask anyone. Hell, ask yourself.”

“Why don’t we think about it?” Steve suggests without really intending to do anything of the sort. Tony’s right that there’s nothing keeping him tied to his current apartment except habit. But then again, this isn’t permanent; he’s only in town until they defeat Loki and then he fully plans on getting back on the road.

Even if that road seems a lot longer and more isolated than it used to now that he and Tony are friends.

“I _have_ thought about it. Now I want to put thought to action.” Tony frowns, slouching down in his chair. “I can have movers here tomorrow. It’ll take a few hours, tops. You can be in a new state-of-the-art kitchen making me brownies by tomorrow night.”

“You don’t even like brownies.”

“I like _your_ brownies,” Tony says earnestly, and Steve finds himself smiling without meaning to.

“Drink your water,” he says gruffly, and Tony does as he’s told, draining his cup and then looking at Steve hopefully like he expects Steve to do what Tony wants now that Tony’s done something he wanted.

“Maybe,” Steve says, and Tony grins, wide and bright, like he’s said something else.

“You won’t regret this, Steve!”

“I said ‘ _maybe_.’”

“Now you’re just being technical,” Tony says, waving his hand dismissively. “Trust me, this is going to be great.” 

“Why does that feel like famous last words?”

“Because you, my friend, are a pessimist. You’ll see. Now where did you hide the champagne?”

“I don’t think so, Tony,” Steve says, still not completely sold on the idea of moving but glad that Tony seems a little less manic than he’d been before. He wonders if Tony will tell him what drove him to get drunk in the first place, but he doesn’t want to press too hard. Neither of them reacts well to that. “You should save it for tomorrow for when Pepper gets here.”

“Ahhhhh, yes,” Tony says, looking down and fiddling with his glass. “That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? Except for the fact that Pepper showed up early this afternoon and has already left again, so really, there’s no point in letting the champagne go to waste.”

“Tony,” he begins, but he’s not sure what he’s going to say. This doesn’t seem like the fall-out of an argument, because the one time Steve had seen him in the middle of a fight with Pepper, Tony had ranted and raved for a while before slinking back with his tail between his legs. Which means this is something more important. Regrettably, it’s not like Steve has much experience with dating. The only time he’d been close to falling in love had been seventy years ago. If he’s honest, he still hasn’t fully recovered, so he’s not exactly the best person to come to for relationship advice.

“Anyway, movers,” Tony says, glancing up at Steve expectantly. His eyes are a little red around the edges, and Steve had kind of thought that was because of the alcohol, but now he’s not so sure. He lets out a huff of breath, giving in. 

“I don’t actually have that much stuff. I can do it myself.”

“ _We_ can do it,” Tony says firmly, and Steve smiles.

“Alright. We can do it.”

“And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘movers.’”

“Tony.”

“Okay, okay. You and me. It’s a deal.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tony can’t help but feel incredibly smug by how much happier Steve seems now that he’s moved in with him. 

Most of it, he thinks, is the company.

He is excellent company, if he does say so himself, and as a result of the new living situation, Steve is graced with his presence a lot.

Part of that is because Tony doesn’t believe in personal boundaries—well, other people’s personal boundaries; his are there for a reason—and part of that is because Tony had included some public space in the new design of the building so all the Avengers could get together and hang out. He’d swung by once and found Steve watching television there instead of up in his own rooms, so he’d started loitering around, too, because JARVIS is conveniently everywhere, and anyway, he’s not so much in the mood to be alone in his workshop right now.

Another part is that Steve also makes an effort to seek him out, something he hadn’t really done before when he’d been living on SHIELD property, because he hadn’t wanted to intrude on Tony’s busy schedule. It feels good to be wanted, especially after everything that’s happened with Pepper. 

Not that he dwells on the breakup or anything. Okay, maybe he does, but not as much as he would’ve expected. Sure, some days are worse than others, but usually whenever something goes wrong in his life, he fixates on everything he did and how he could’ve possibly done things differently. Then he drinks a lot and parties a lot and makes inadvisable clothing choices. He has his coping mechanisms, okay, they work for him.

With Steve around, though, he has something else to focus on rather than his own troubles, and it’s a nice change of pace from the norm is all he’s saying.

Nevertheless, Tony kind of wishes Rhodey were around to talk to—he’s a good listener and isn’t afraid of telling Tony the hard truths—but Rhodey’s off overseas doing some taskforce training thing and won’t be back for several months. Tony supposes he _could_ call him up and pour out his Pepper troubles, but that way leads to tears; Rhodey really didn’t appreciate it the last time Tony had called him. Though how was he supposed to know Rhodey was in the middle of a live fire training exercise? It’s totally not his fault that he called five times in a row—Rhodey should’ve turned off his phone, is all Tony is saying—never mind that Tony had once turned his phone back on through one of the company satellites because he was drunk. It happened _one time_ and the guy never let him live it down, jeez. 

In any case, Rhodey is a hundred percent more patient with him when they’re face-to-face than on the phone, and furthermore, Tony’s the type of guy who needs to see someone in person to feel really comfortable, you know, baring his fucking soul. But whatever, this isn’t about him; this is about Steve and how he’s doing better now that he’s not alone in the dingy apartment he called home.

Bruce is a big help in the Socialize Your Super Soldier initiative. He comes down a lot, which is surprising since he never came down that much when it was just Bruce and Tony. Then again, Steve bakes like he’s preparing for a marijuana bender after-party, so maybe it’s not too surprising after all. On the plus side, Steve and Bruce get along really well, with none of the “I hate you, die, _die_ ” interaction that had characterized Steve’s and Tony’s earlier acquaintance. On the minus side, sometimes Bruce eats all of the muffins before Tony can get downstairs, which is probably one of the rudest things that has ever happened to him. He fucking pays for their _housing;_ muffins should be written into the lease contract. If there were a lease contract. He’s got to get JARVIS on that, pronto. 

“If you hadn’t gone to sleep at some ungodly hour in the morning, then you could be sitting here, full of delicious muffins, instead of sulking over there, starving,” Bruce tells him and adds insult to injury by patting his stomach.

“ _Steve_!” Tony complains, gesturing from Bruce to the empty plate and back again. “How could you?”

“Bruce can eat a lot of food,” Steve says, shrugging. 

“So what, it’s my fault I don’t turn into The Not-So-Jolly Green Giant? Not all of us can burn through five thousand calories in three seconds. That doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a little consideration.”

“Weren’t you just complaining to me the other day that you were gaining weight?”

“You _are_ looking a little thicker around the middle,” Bruce oh-so-helpfully chimes in, and pffft, like Tony doesn’t see Bruce is trying to get a little of his own back for the Green Giant comment, because Tony? Has an awesome body.

“Don’t you have some experiments to do?”

“Actually, I have ‘stop by and eat all the baked goods’ in my calendar now,” Bruce says cheerfully. 

Before Tony can respond to that outrageous statement, Steve sets a plate with four apple cinnamon muffins in front of him.

“Calm down, I saved some for you,” he says, and Tony beams at him, sticking his tongue out at Bruce when Steve turns his back.

“I knew you loved me best,” Tony says and stuffs as much of one muffin in his mouth as he can, because he doesn’t like the way Bruce is eyeing them.

And Steve just laughs in that easy way he’s developed lately, and see, that’s what Tony means when he says living at Stark Tower has been good for Steve. Everything’s not perfect—far from it—but Steve’s more relaxed now and seems less like he’s going to pop one day from all his repressed feelings and from waiting for Loki to show up. 

That isn’t to say that Steve’s stopped trying to figure out ways to find Loki, because he hasn’t. He accesses SHIELD’s libraries and goes over footage and old reports, pouring over them to see if there’s anything they’ve missed. They’re all still looking, because there’s not been so much as a blip on the radar from any of their considerable combined resources. It’s like Loki’s disappeared into thin air, which isn’t beyond the realm of possibility, unfortunately, but does make finding him a bitch. 

Still, Steve’s doing a lot better handling the stress nowadays. Instead of keeping it all bottled up inside or spending hours and hours alone in his gym, Steve is willing to blow off some steam by going a round or two with Tony in the ring or by getting his ass kicked in Mario Kart for the millionth time. 

So yeah, convincing Steve to move into Stark Tower? Best idea ever.

There’s only one thing that could make it even better for Steve, because Tony doesn’t believe you can ever have too much of a good thing.

Tony is the kind of guy who needs other people to be his audience—to marvel at his brilliance and to applaud in all the appropriate places. Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t need or necessarily even want to be in the limelight, but he does need to be around other people in order to remember who and what he’s fighting for. Not that Steve would ever forget exactly, but Tony can’t imagine it’s easy for him to relate to society as a whole nowadays. Relating to a small handful, however, especially when they’re people he’s already come to know and admire, well, that should be considerably easier.

He doesn’t call Fury and give him a spiel that basically comes down to telling Fury he should _order_ Clint and Natasha to move into Stark Tower, except for the way he kind of does. Luckily, Fury thinks it’s a great idea. And he only milks a few million dollars’ worth of free tech out of Tony in the process, so it’s basically a win-win.

“Check out the digs,” Clint drawls as he walks through his new living quarters, the f bags he’s carrying clanking ominously. Tony maybe should’ve waited until he and Natasha had both had a chance to unload all their gear before he’d gotten Fury to send them over, but whatever. He gets excited, okay?

Natasha hums thoughtfully as she follows him around. They’ve already inspected her floor—because Clint had insisted on the two of them doing it together, like he thinks Tony’s trying to divide and conquer or something—and she’s probably making sure her setup is nicer, which it totally is, because come on, who doesn’t like Natasha better than Clint? 

“Tony, there’s a problem,” Clint says as he wanders back. “I’ve only noticed five bathrooms. I’m going to need at least another three in here, maybe four. Also, a sauna and maybe a full-size football stadium while you’re at it. Can you have your guys get on that, stat?”

Tony just rolls his eyes. Steve better appreciate all the sacrifices he’s making for him.

Even if he doesn’t, though, it’s almost worth it the first time JARVIS says something and Clint ducks and weaves, reaching for his bow. Telling Bruce all about JARVIS had been common sense, because the last thing he’d wanted was Bruce freaking out. _Not_ telling Clint, however, well, that’s just good entertainment.

===============

It’s something of a shock going from living by himself with basically no neighbors to essentially living with four other people. He’s getting used to it though.

He has his private space, of course; they all do. There are definitely occasions when Steve needs it, when he takes a few hours to breathe and get himself sorted, because everything is different. Everything. And it doesn’t matter that he’s mostly gotten used to the changes, because all it takes is a song, or a fragrance, or a spoken phrase, and he’s thrown right back into the past where he belongs. 

There are other times, though, when he feels like everything’s going to be okay, that different isn’t always bad and that he could be happy here. Sincerely happy.

It’s taken a while to get here, of course. The first night moving in had been particularly bad, although he’s never told Tony about it.

 _Steve wanders down the hallway, brushing his fingers against the wall in order to feel each bump and divot in the paint; it’s something to focus on instead of how quiet it is, how all the sounds he’s gotten used to have disappeared. He turns on the television in order to have some noise in the background, but it doesn’t help as much as it usually does, and he has the urge to run down to the grocery store a few blocks away and get lost in the people, in their chatter and their impatience and their indecision as they decide between one brand and another. Except it’s not there anymore, or at least, he’s not, and this had been a bad idea. He should never have moved out of his apartment.  
_  
Now, though, it’s almost unbelievable to remember how lonely he’d been. He hadn’t known how debilitating loneliness could be, hadn’t realized all the little tricks he’d been using to keep himself from thinking about it. He hadn’t known until it was gone, and it’s because of Tony that he’s doing better, Tony who had dragged him out and surrounded him with loud voices and arguments and laughter. 

And Steve is so grateful. Tony could have stayed away—Steve had expected him to—but Tony hadn’t. Then Natasha and Clint showed up a month after Steve had moved in, as if Steve wouldn’t know immediately why they were there and who had orchestrated it, never mind that it has to be inconvenient and expensive for Tony to have them all living there. Tony is at the heart of all of it, and Steve can’t even say thank you because he knows that’s not what Tony wants.

It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could pay Tony back somehow, even though he knows it doesn’t work that way. Friendship isn’t about keeping tally of the favors but always being indebted, being wrapped up and entwined in each other’s lives. Steve still wants to, though, even if it’s not as if he has much he can give Tony besides what he already gives him. Anything he could make or buy Tony wouldn’t be able to compare to what Tony could get for himself. It’s hard being friends with a billionaire sometimes.

The only thing that Steve keeps coming back to when he’s staring up at the ceiling late at night (bargaining with himself that if he tries to sleep for another hour and still can’t do it, he can go and see what Tony’s up to, since Tony never sleeps anyway) is that Tony misses Pepper an awful lot. Tony almost seems to be lonelier now than he’d been after the actual breakup, eyes lingering on Clint and Natasha who are always together, even if they’re not dating as far as Steve can tell.

Steve debates calling Pepper, confiding the truth, because Tony isn’t the type to admit such a huge vulnerability. She’d give Tony another chance if she knew how much he loves her. Wouldn’t she? 

Not that Steve knows whose fault it was—although it was probably Tony’s; Steve’s realistic after all—but he firmly believes that any problem can be worked through if two people try hard enough, and for all of Tony’s playboy ways, he works harder than anyone Steve’s ever met. 

He doesn’t call her in the end, not because he listens to the tiny voice that reminds him how much less free time Tony would have if they start dating again (he’s ashamed of himself for even thinking it), but because it’s not his place, and he would’ve been humiliated if anyone had stepped in to talk to Peggy in his stead back when they’d been figuring things out between them.

It turns out to be the right decision ultimately, although for a very different reason than he would ever have suspected. It’s not a week later that he’s watching the news when they show a picture of Pepper smiling at some actor or singer or someone who’s apparently very famous, although Steve doesn’t recognize him (which isn’t saying much since he doesn’t know many people who are supposed to be well-known). He doesn’t catch the name because he’s so busy staring at the screen, and he’d like to hope Tony won’t find out, but he already knows that’s next to impossible.

He’s proven right the next day when Tony comes down, cracking jokes and talking a mile a minute, but his eyes are kind of hollow and his smile seems heavy, and it makes Steve’s heart ache for him.

Tony seems completely normal the day after, and Steve tries to say something but Tony changes the subject each and every time, until finally Steve lets him have the privacy he wants.

Tony doesn’t want to talk about it and Steve can respect that, all things considered, but that doesn’t mean Tony has to be alone through all of it. Steve diverts his energy into being the best friend that he can be; he’s always done that while they’ve actually _been_ friends, but he tries harder anyway. 

While there’s no way to actually measure his success or failure, Tony continues to laugh and spend time with him, and really, that’s all Steve needs.

===============

Tony stares at the oh-so-blank expressions on Natasha’s and Clint’s faces, at the scant space that separates them, and he groans, “Seriously? In my kitchen? Before I’ve had my coffee? _Seriously_?”

Clint shrugs and curls his fingers around Natasha’s. “Like you wouldn’t want to be in the middle if we let you.”

Tony is so offended. He totally has better taste than that—okay, yeah, no, he’d be there in a heartbeat. 

It’s not like he hasn’t been expecting this development. He’s seen the looks between the two of them, the way Clint lets his guard down around Natasha, like she’s the only one he really trusts, like she’s the only one he wants to be with. He gravitates towards her like she’s his very own black hole, and he can’t get away, although it never looks like he bothers trying.

But seeing is very different from _seeing_ , especially when he’d been expecting strudel or donuts or muffins or something and Steve’s disapproving face since Steve always seems to know when Tony’s been up all night. Part of that is probably because _Steve_ doesn’t sleep half as much as he should, and don’t think Tony hasn’t noticed.

He’d never wondered why Steve wasn’t more annoyed when Tony stopped by his apartment in the wee hours of the morning, but he totally understands now.

“If you’re looking for Steve,” Natasha says, because she’s a fucking mind-reader, “Clint spilled a bag of flour, and Steve went out to go buy some more.”

“Why even bring that up?” Clint asks, mock-scowling at her. “It was an accident. Everybody should be allowed one little accident pre-breakfast.”

“You were juggling the bag of flour, a banana, two mugs, three forks, and a spatula. It hardly qualifies as an accident when you set yourself up for failure—”

“Hey now!” Clint says, and crap, what is his life, Clint looks like he’s a second away from picking up where they’d left off when Tony had walked in, and Tony is all for voyeurism, okay, he gets it, appreciates it, it’s all good, but _coffee_.

“Break it up, you two. If two whole floors isn’t enough space, then I will give you another one, alright? I’ll go and do some creative rearranging downstairs if you just clear a path to the coffee-maker right now,” Tony says, inching around them, because ugh, their banter is sickeningly sweet and all that cuteness might be contagious or some shit, geez.

He doesn’t actually have to give them another floor, thank goodness—even a sky-scraper has only so many levels—but if he’d thought they were tied at the hip before, it’s nothing in comparison to the way they start acting now that they’re banging.

It’d been fine when it’d just been the sexual tension thick enough to choke on. He knows all about living with sexual tension. For years even. Natasha and Clint are wimps in comparison. But now it’s all barely-contained lust and giddiness and soft expressions, and someone just shoot him.

He gets it. It’s not like he hasn’t been there before. In the beginning. With Pepper. Not that he’s thinking about Pepper right now, but still. He remembers.

He just doesn’t need it all in his face.

Tony goes to find Steve, although that makes it worse since Steve thinks they’re kind of adorable. He doesn’t says so or anything, but it’s kind of obvious from the way he watches them, not like he even means to, but like he can’t help himself. It’s not in the same way that Tony would watch them—not that he does, because he values his life, and Natasha and Clint have already disabled every camera or voice recorder in their floors, even though JARVIS knows not to come a’knockin when the van be a’rockin, but whatever. Steve looks at them with his horrible poker face, and it’s impossible to not notice the wistfulness, even if it’s buried under a jumble of other emotions.

And that just—damn it, Steve with his stupid face—

The whole point of getting Natasha and Clint in the Tower had been to help cheer Steve up, not remind him of what he’s lost.

Clint doesn’t notice, but then, Clint doesn’t seem to notice anything that’s not related to Natasha nowadays. She, on the other hand, takes pains to keep the eye-fucking to a minimum when Steve or Tony are around, but it’s clear to anyone who’s looking that they’re head over heels.

A few days later, Tony’s starting to wonder if he needs to call Fury up and ask him to send the two of them on a long mission just to give Steve some time to get used to everything. Or if that doesn’t work, attempt to convince Steve to leave New York again, no matter how spectacularly that had failed the last time he’d tried—“It’s our civic duty to stay here in case Loki shows up again and not chase state fairs just because you like seeing famous people’s heads sculpted out of cheese.” Except then the problem is solved for him.

Tony lets out a long, slow whistle as Natasha comes into the kitchen wearing a suit jacket with nothing but two buttons and a lot of _oomph_ keeping it together, flowing pants and stiletto heels. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Clint says as he walks in behind her, dressed sharply in a suit but nowhere near as eye-catching.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Tony says, but as soon as Clint’s back is turned, he points to her, back to himself, then to the door with a suggestive eye waggle. 

“I saw that.”

“What?” he asks, voice innocent, and then, “So where are you two lovebirds off to?”

“Assignment,” Natasha says as she walks to the counter a few stools down. “Just have to pick something up before we go.” She smiles at Tony as she takes something out from under the counter and slips it into her breast pocket, and it’s totally distracting but not so much that he doesn’t notice.

“JARVIS!” he calls and tries to glare at her, but the view keeps him from working up the appropriate level of indignation. “Sweep the Tower for bugs!”

“Very well, Sir.”

“I’m watching you,” Tony says, and Natasha winks back at him.

“I’m counting on it.”

Steve shakes his head at all of them and goes back to reading the book he has with him; it doesn’t seem to matter how many times Tony tries to convince him to get an e-reader instead. He’s got enough of a blush on his cheeks, however, that Tony thinks he’s just avoiding looking at Natasha’s cleavage.

“So what are you supposed to be?” he asks Clint, who’s standing around with sunglasses on and his arms crossed over his chest. “Boy-toy or bodyguard?”

“Why, you jealous?”

“Oh, honey, don’t be like that.” He bats his eyelashes at him. “You can be my boy-toy any day.”

Clint snorts. “Tony, you couldn’t handle me.”

“I could handle you just fine,” he says, leering, but Natasha breaks it up before they can take it any further. Spoilsport.

“Don’t plant any more bugs in my building!” he yells as they’re leaving, because it’s fine when he breaks into SHIELDs systems, but it’s rude when someone tries to do the same to him. He obviously needs to beef security in the living areas up to R&D-floor levels.

“You’ve got two weeks to find all the bugs before I come back and start planting more,” Natasha says as she leaves, and that’s a challenge if Tony’s ever heard one. Two weeks? Ha! It’ll take all of two _hours_ , and now Tony feels he has carte blanche to place a few more of his own.

“What?” he asks in response to the funny look Steve is giving him.

“Oh, nothing,” Steve says and fidgets with his book.

“We can’t all be as strong as you, Steve, and in my defense, I tried to look away.” 

“Excuse me?” Steve asks, blinking, and then he flushes when he realizes what Tony’s referring to. 

“Oh, is this about the flirting with Clint? Because I would never date someone who was already in a relationship. Besides, he’s not really my type. Not that he’s not attractive, of course. I mean, I can see the appeal,” he says, trailing off because Steve is looking more and more like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Okay, well, if that wasn’t it . . . Tony mentally replays the past conversation.

“You didn’t know I liked guys, did you?” Tony asks finally, and yup, he’s hit the nail on the head if Steve’s expression is anything to go by. “Is this a problem for you? I mean, I suppose I can understand if you’re uncomfortable since homosexuality was kind of a big deal back then—”

“Tony, it doesn’t bother me,” Steve says, his cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red. “I was just caught off guard. I’m sorry if I seemed uneasy.”

“Well, okay then,” Tony says, feeling relieved even though he’s not the type to seek other people’s approval. 

Alright, fine, he totally is with certain people, and apparently Steve falls into that category. 

Steve nods and that’s the end of that for the most part, although Tony’s hyperaware for a day or two afterward, checking to make sure nothing’s changed between the two of them. Just because a guy _says_ it’s okay doesn’t mean he actually _thinks_ it’s okay that Tony likes the occasional man-on-man action. 

But Steve keeps doing the same things he’s been doing, scolding Tony for drinking too much caffeine and not getting enough sleep, mocking him for his movie and music choices (Steve just doesn’t know what’s good; Tony forgives him though) and spending time with him without reservation.

It’s a huge relief that everything is business as usual, and Tony hopes that the time without Natasha and Clint will clear Steve’s head or give him a breather or something. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work. If anything, Steve goes in the opposite direction that Tony wanted him to and starts sliding into a funk that no amount of Tony’s hilarious jokes and amazing company can completely lift him out of.

It feels like Tony’s already invited most of the people Steve knows and gets along with to live at Stark Tower, but he has to draw the line somewhere, and there’s no way in hell he’s inviting Fury. Besides, it’s seems like Steve’s displaying a certain kind of loneliness that having more friends around just won’t soothe. 

Maybe it’s time to start introducing Steve to some women.

Tony frowns.

Then again, maybe not. He doesn’t want to rush Steve into anything, right? And Steve’s young and impressionable. There’ll be tons of women willing to give Steve a second, third, fourth, fifth, a _millionth_ look, and Steve really isn’t ready for that.

Right? 

Just the thought of Steve being surrounded by women, smiling at him, touching him, has Tony walking over to his liquor cabinet for a stiff drink.

It’s not like he doesn’t know Steve’s attractive. He knows. He totally knows. He’s not dead after all. Even back when he’d kind of hated Steve, Tony had appreciated the outer packaging. Sure, he’d thought Steve was an angry, bitter douchebag, but he’d been a _pretty_ , angry, bitter douchebag. So sue him, okay, Tony likes looking at pretty things. 

He fills a tumbler with scotch and takes a healthy swallow.

When they’d become friends, Tony had slotted Steve into the “untouchable” category, because contrary to what most people think of him, Tony’s not actually a man-whore—or at least, not entirely—and he makes it a policy to never sleep with real friends.

Of course, he’d broken that rule with Pepper, and look where that had gotten him, so clearly, he needs to put that program back into effect.

He finishes the rest of his glass and fills it back up.

He can start that process by not thinking about how Steve fills out his pants when he bends over to put things into the oven, for instance. Or how his shirt clings to him when he’s dripping with sweat, chest heaving and gasping for breath. Or the long line of heat that Tony feels whenever they’re sitting close to each other on the couch during one of their movies, even though there are other chairs available. Or the way Tony can’t think of anyone else he’d rather spend time with, because no one makes him as happy as Steve does.

Which.

What.

Wow. Okay, forget the tumbler. It’s time to get out the shots.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve gasps, rolling, trying to dodge out of the way—no, he’s trying to get closer, to use the opportunity to slip under Red Skull’s defense—wait, where is he, what is he—he’s standing in the middle of a frozen tundra, and it’s so dark, it’s getting darker even as he stands and shivers, and he tries to get warm, but he can’t, so cold, he’s freezing, his fingers turning stiff, frost forming on his eyelashes, he can’t breathe from the force of the wind gusting, he can barely move, why can’t he move, if he could just walk, if he could just _run_ , he knows he’ll be safe, he just has to—he’s _freezing_ —

Steve wakes up shouting, and it takes him an unbearably long moment to realize he’s in his room, in his bed, to figure out that the only reason he can’t move his legs is because he’s tangled in the blanket and not because he’s frozen solid, that he’s sweating as a matter of fact.

The knowledge doesn’t stop him from shivering, however, from unwrapping the blanket around him and cocooning in it instead, because the shivers have turned to outright shudders, his teeth clacking together, and it’s only after he finally stumbles out of bed, pulling on sweats and thick socks with fingers that don’t want to cooperate and turning the heat up as high as it can go that he finally starts to get warm.

It takes a lot longer before he starts feeling better, however.

 _Fuck_ , he hasn’t had one of these dreams in over a month. He’d thought maybe he was getting over them finally, because he hasn’t felt as anxious lately, hasn’t worried that he’s going to unintentionally yell at anyone; he’s even started enjoying working out again instead of it simply being a means to exhaust himself enough to sleep.

But obviously, he’d been wrong. Maybe he’s always going to be like this, tense and angry and afraid of his own shadow. Maybe he’ll never get—

He desperately starts counting in his head, one, two, three, four, going on and on, as fast as he can, trying to fill his mind with numbers instead of the thoughts that’ll keep him trapped in the corner of his room for hours. It’s ridiculous, but it helps him for some reason, a little trick he’d picked up early on to calm his instinctual reaction to blow up at someone for something they’d said or done. Mostly Tony. But other people, too.

But that gets him thinking about Tony instead, and normally, that would help calm him down, but not now. Not with the way Tony’s been acting recently. 

Last week, Tony hadn’t stopped by to see him at all until Thursday. When Steve had been living in his apartment, not talking to Tony for over four days would’ve seemed like a long time. Now that he’s living in Stark Tower, however, where they touch base at least once a day if not more, it seems like forever. 

Even when Tony had finally shown up, he hadn’t offered a single explanation for his absence, and while he’d stayed until nearly three in the morning, he’d alternated between long, brooding silences and non-stop chattering like he couldn’t decide how to act around Steve. Tony hadn’t made a reappearance Friday or Saturday, and by Tuesday, Steve had been ready to drag him out of his lab, except then Tony had sauntered into the common area and plopped down on the couch next to him like any other day, keeping him company for the majority of two days straight before going upstairs once again.

Steve would think Tony was avoiding him, except Tony has always kept crazy hours, and quantitatively, Steve suspects they’re actually spending the same amount of time together. Just in extremely concentrated bursts.

It’s left Steve feeling adrift, because he doesn’t _what_ to expect anymore, and he can’t help worrying that this is the beginning of the end, that Tony’s gradually pulling away from him. He just doesn’t know _why_. Tony doesn’t seem angry when he is around, but he doesn’t seem at ease either, and Steve has no idea if that’s because of him or if there’s something else going on in Tony’s life that’s putting him on edge. He wants to ask. He’s just not sure if he wants to know the answer.

Steve’s spent a lot of time thinking about it, too much time really, but he always has the company of his thoughts, even when he doesn’t want them. The only other thing that it might be is the revelation Tony had made about being bisexual. It fits, timing-wise, but that’s the only way it fits, since Steve had assured Tony that it didn’t bother him. He’d actually ruled it out as a possibility early on, but the longer this goes on, the more he wonders.

What if all of this is because Tony thinks he’s uncomfortable about Tony being attracted to men as well as women?

How ironic if it is, because nothing could be further from the truth considering it’s something they have in common. 

It would’ve been better if he’d admitted as much to Tony that day, but a lifetime of silence is a hard habit to break. Homosexuality had been illegal when he was young, not like today where same-sex couples to get married—admittedly, only in some places, but it’s astounding how far society has come when he thinks about how things were back then. 

Steve had realized pretty early that he was attracted to both men and women, but he hadn’t acted on it when he’d been growing up. He’d been sick most of his life, and he’d had more important things to focus on, like taking care of the other kids in the orphanage and finding a job to support himself, and then there’d been the war, and well, with all of that, romance of any kind had been far from the forefront of his mind (even if thoughts of it would sneak in late at night sometimes, when he’d been in his bed, lonely and thinking about what the future would be like, wondering how it’d feel to touch someone with intent and feeling guilty about the familiar faces that’d try to slip into his daydreams). It wasn’t until he’d met Peggy that he’d been interested enough to pursue anything, and even then, he hadn’t been looking; they’d just somehow managed to find each other.

The only reason he’d been looking askance at Tony that day was because it’s still such a shock to him how open people are about sex. No one discussed it when he was growing up unless it was in whispers with close friends or potential lovers, especially not in public, but now he sees it on television, in the newspaper, it’s everywhere, and Steve can’t help but feel a little embarrassed when it’s mentioned in front of him. 

The first chance he gets, he’s going to explain all of that to Tony. They’ve already had a lifetime of misunderstandings between them, and he doesn’t want to let this one stand between them. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time he finally feels up to leaving the room, but he knows he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep. It’s hours before he’d normally start baking, but he’s still shivering every now and then, and he wants the warmth of the oven and the hope that maybe today Tony will come down and be with him.

He’s completely unprepared to see Tony already in the kitchen, sitting on one the stools, a steaming mug between his hands.

“Tony?”

“Hey, Steve,” Tony says, taking a sip of his drink. His eye twitches, but before Steve can comment, Tony says, “I’m trying to flood the caffeine out of my system with chamomile tea. Want some?”

“Sure,” Steve says slowly, and Tony’s up and off his stool before he’s even finished talking, pouring hot water from the kettle into another mug, teabag already conspicuously in place. He adds a generous helping of honey and a squeeze of lemon, exactly the way Steve likes it, before setting the mug in front of where he’s sitting. 

“JARVIS told you I had a nightmare.”

“What? Nightmare? JARVIS didn’t—I just wanted some tea,” Tony says and holds his cup up in front of his face as if to prove his intentions.

Steve doesn’t respond, just looks at him until Tony starts fidgeting and takes another drink. There’s no twitch this time, but from the expression on his face, it’s a near thing.

On the one hand, Steve is furious at Tony for invading his privacy. If he’d wanted to tell Tony about the nightmares, he would have. He doesn’t need Tony to interfere or help, because it’s Steve’s problem, and he can handle it, he’s _been_ handling it.

But on the other hand . . . 

On the other hand, if Steve had been willing to tell anyone, he would’ve told Tony. Not just because they’ve become such good friends or because it’s obvious that Tony cares—why else would he have had JARVIS notify him just so he could be there in case Steve was willing to come out of his room—although those are both excellent reasons. It’d be because Tony would understand, because both of them carry scars, even if Tony’s are the more visible ones. 

He remembers how Tony had acted when they’d been stuck in quarantine, and he’s not _happy_ that Tony’d had to experience that, but it makes it a little more bearable somehow to know that Tony won’t think he’s weak, that Tony’s suffered, too, even when everything was supposed to be alright.

He’s still not going to talk about it though. Talking doesn’t change anything, doesn’t make what happened any less true, and unless Tony can build a time machine—although he will _never_ mention that in case Tony actually gets it in his head to try it—there’s really nothing he can do.

Steve can’t help feeling a little touched at all the effort Tony’s gone to, however. Steve hadn’t looked at the clock when he’d woken up, so he doesn’t know how long he was in his room, but it’d been enough time for Tony to get the tea ready, for him to worry and occupy himself by cutting the lemon into neat little wedges and arranging the napkins on the counter into a spiral. And on top of all of that, Tony _hates_ chamomile tea. He’s apparently forgotten that he’d admitted as much to Steve when he’d been visiting one night back when Steve had still been living at SHIELD, but there Tony is, drinking and trying not to grimace and acting like everything’s okay.

It doesn’t soothe all the anger, but it makes it easier to ignore.

Nevertheless, Steve has no problem letting Tony take several more mouthfuls before he finally breaks the silence.

“You haven’t been around much lately.”

“Oh, well, you know how it goes,” Tony says, all but dropping his mug on the counter in his haste to stop drinking. “Too many projects, not enough time.”

“I see,” Steve says, and it could be true. It probably _is_ true. 

But just in case it isn’t . . . 

“About what you said the other day.” 

Tony’s eyebrows go up in question.

“The thing with Clint.”

There’s no change in Tony’s expression.

“That you . . . that you find Clint attractive.”

“Okay, that is _not_ what I said,” Tony begins, looking outraged in a way that would have Steve smiling any other day.

“Alright, maybe not,” he concedes and has to take a deep breath before he continues. “He _is_ my type, however,” he says, because he’s always liked confident, smart brunets. “Not that I’m interested in him,” he hastens to add in order to avoid any more unnecessary confusion. He’s not drawn to anyone that way right now, although if he were to be romantically inclined towards—

“Ha, I knew it!”

“What?” Steve says, because that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, not that he’d known _what_ to expect, but still. That definitely hadn’t been it.

“I mean, I didn’t _really_ know it. I kind of suspected, sure, because no one talks that way about their best friend without some sort of sexual feeling being involved. Well, I suppose it’s _possible_ , but it seems really unlikely—”

“Tony—”

“You’re right, you’re right; I’m getting off-topic. What about it?” Tony asks, nothing but simple curiosity in his voice, which means that isn’t the reason he’s been absent so much lately. 

“Um, nothing, I guess?” Steve says, relieved, albeit confused now and vaguely let down. “It’s just, you’ve been acting . . . differently . . . these past couple of weeks, and I thought maybe I had given you the wrong impression about what you’d said.”

“Ohhh,” Tony says and looks shifty. Steve’s eyes narrow. “Seriously, everything’s fine. I’ve had an incredibly weird schedule recently, is all. It’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know how it goes. Or maybe not. But board members knocking on your door, and reporters following you around, and sometimes you got to lock yourself in your room and get stuff done.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Technical stuff. I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“What? Really, I’ve got—”

“Are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not—”

“Did I do something?” he asks, because he’s always tried to face up to his mistakes, even though asking Tony makes him feel incredibly vulnerable for some reason.

“No, of course not! Where’s this coming from? There’s nothing wrong! And how can you accuse me of _avoiding_ you when I spent like thirty six consecutive hours with you earlier this week—”

“After _avoiding_ me for four days!” Steve says, and it’s nearly a yell, even though the last thing he wants to do is make this into an argument.

“I’m sorry if my schedule isn’t living up to your expectations!” Tony snaps defensively.

“That’s not the point, Tony!” he says and tries to calm down, but he can feel anger and stress bubbling to the surface. “All I’m trying to do is—”

“It’s nothing, alright? Stop making such a big deal out of—”

“Then tell me what’s going on!” Steve demands, gripping his mug tightly so he doesn’t give in to the urge to grab Tony instead and shake him until he gives Steve a real answer. 

“Nothing’s going on!” Tony says, throwing his hands up in the air.

“ _Something’s_ going on if you can’t stand to be around me anymore, and I just want to know what it is!”

“There’s nothing to know!” 

“ _Why are you lying to me_?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t remember getting off his stool, but he’s standing, and he needs to calm down, but he can’t. His emotions are all over the place, and he feels tired and battered, and he can’t deal with Tony’s word games right now, can’t deal with Tony right now. Tony, who tells white lies all the time and rationalizes it, because they’re just little lies, and the end justifies the means, and he doesn’t do it to hurt anyone, but Steve’s _already_ hurting, and what he wants is the truth, what he wants is _Tony_ —

“I’m not _lying_ to you! This isn’t about—you don’t need to know!”

“I do, because you’re punishing me for something, and I don’t know why!”

“It’s not—why can’t you just leave it alone?” Tony asks, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s begging him to understand, but that just makes Steve even angrier, because he _doesn’t_ understand, not at all.

“Because it’s important! Because it’s driving a wedge between us, and I don’t even know why!” Because Steve depends on Tony, needs him to be there, and Tony hasn’t been. It’s selfish, but Steve can’t make himself stop. “I thought we were friends.”

“We _are_ friends!” Tony says, looking hurt. “How can you even say that after—”

“Then why won’t you—”

“It’s not about—”

“Stop telling me what it’s _not_ about and start telling me what it _is_ about!”

“It’s none of your business—”

“ _I deserve to know_!” Steve roars, his face inches away from Tony’s.

“I don’t want to be your friend!” Tony yells, and Steve lurches back, his stomach knotting, his knees abruptly weak. 

“—more than that! Fuck. _Fuck_.” Tony grabs his hair with both hands and squeezes before letting them drop back down to his side, and Steve is just—he’s not sure what he’s hearing; he’s not sure he’s hearing anything actually over the hammering of his heart. “I wasn’t going to tell you. I know you’re not, not ready or interested in me that way. I was just trying to get over it, and that’s why . . . I couldn’t stay away though. I meant to, but . . .” 

Tony trails off, shrugging. “I wasn’t going to tell you,” he says again and looks away.

That . . . that really wasn’t what Steve had been expecting.

Tony glances up at him.

He doesn’t know what to do. Tony wants . . . 

Steve tries to think of something to say, but he feels tongue-tied, can’t figure out what there is _to_ say.

Really? Does Tony really want to be with him?

“And this is why I wasn’t going to say anything,” Tony says, throwing his hands up, and he tries to inject a note of levity into his voice, but Steve sees the way his lips twist unhappily, the slump of his shoulders, and no. No, he doesn’t want that. Not for Tony. Not because of him.

“Tony, I,” he begins, lifting one hand to touch him.

 

He drops it again right away though, since he _still_ doesn’t know how to respond. All he knows is that Tony’s hurting and that Steve can fix it if he wants to. But at what price?

He cares for Tony, he does. So much. But— 

“Well, now that I’ve made you extremely uncomfortable, my work here is done,” Tony says, slapping his hand on the counter. “I’m going to go—” 

“Wait. Don’t,” Steve says, and this time, when he reaches out, he makes contact, grabbing Tony’s arm and holding him in place. His thoughts are so fragmented, and he can’t seem to put more than two words together, but he knows he doesn’t want Tony to go. “Just—just give me a second. I need—not yet. Wait,” he breathes and stares and stares and stares.

He’s not in love with Tony. At least, it doesn’t feel the same as it had with Peggy. Yes, he thinks about Tony. All the time, if he’s truthful. But then, Steve rarely lets himself think about the other subjects that try to crowd his head, and Tony is a great distraction, so it hardly counts.

He enjoys spending time with him, looks forward to it, feels lonely without him, and that’s what had started all of this, so that much is painfully obvious, but that’s a far cry from being attracted to him, and he’s not. 

Is he? 

He enjoys touching him, yes, and being touched, but he’s never thought of Tony in anything other than a friendly way.

Just because Tony had said he liked men didn’t mean that Steve had automatically assumed Tony liked _him_. Bucky had always thought that if a girl smiled at him then it was a done deal, but Steve knows better than to presume someone would fall for a sickly string bean from Brooklyn.

He’s not that same person anymore, although sometimes he forgets, he supposes, but Tony is handsome and smart and wealthy, and Steve isn’t exaggerating when he thinks Tony could have whomever he wanted.

So, the fact that he wants Steve is . . . 

Tony’s right though, Steve’s _not_ ready. He hasn’t so much as looked at a pretty girl since he’d woken up.

But if Tony knows that, and is still willing to try, maybe . . . 

Truthfully, Steve’s not so sure that _Tony’s_ ready for a relationship again. The break-up with Pepper had hit him pretty hard, and finding out she was dating someone had obviously hurt him, and while sure, a person can’t help who they fell in lo—who they’re attracted to, the timing has definitely not been the best.

 _Could_ he be interested in Tony? It would mean touching, holding hands, kissing. More than kissing. 

Thinking about kissing Tony isn’t—it’s not bad. Not bad at all actually, even if he can feel his cheeks burning like Tony can read that thought on his face. 

Is he really going to do this?

Yes. Yes, of course he is. Because what’s the alternative? What if he says no and Tony stops—what if Tony wants to see even _less_ of him? He doesn’t think Tony would put an end to their friendship, but he’d probably want time away from him, and he might put some distance between them, might stop throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulders or sitting next to him on the couch, and that just makes Steve feel panicked. 

Steve can’t even imagine his life without Tony right now, doesn’t even want to, and if that means _being_ with Tony, then maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’ll work out for both of them, give them both what they want. Maybe it’ll make it even harder for Tony to ever abandon him.

“Let me . . .” he tries, but he can’t finish that sentence either, and he hesitantly pulls Tony toward him, leaning down just enough so he can press his lips to Tony’s. Neither of them close their eyes—if anything, Tony’s gets bigger and bigger—and it’s—it’s nice, it’s—

Tony’s hands come up, fingers winding in his hair, and Tony tilts his head, drags him forward until their bodies are touching, until there’s no space between them and it feels like he’s surrounded, safe, and finally Steve lets his eyes shut, let himself fall into the kiss and just hold on, and oh—

Oh.

===============

Tony is happy.

Like disgustingly so. Like there should be music on in the background and cute little chicks and bunnies should be running around his feet, that’s how happy he is.

He’s kind of making himself sick, and he’s sure it can’t last, but what the hell. He’s happy, and it’s all because of Steve.

Steve is amazing. He’s like sunshine and rainbows, and he’s all Tony’s. It makes him kind of want to giggle and kick his feet or something.

He’s never felt like this about anyone before. Never. Not even Pepper, and that makes him feel a little guilty actually, but she’s the one that’d broken up with him, so not that guilty.

But Steve is just perfect, and Tony wants to shower him with presents, wants to spend all his free time with him, he wants to cling like a limpet to him and never let go, and it’s ridiculous and annoying and he totally doesn’t care. 

To make matters even better, _Steve_ seems happy, too, and that’s—

Tony knows that he’d blindsided him when he’d admitted wanting him. Hell, Tony had blindsided _himself_ when he’d realized his feelings, so Steve must have been absolutely flabbergasted. And he kind of suspects that Steve had gone along with the whole thing out of pity or friendship or fuck, pity, but Tony hadn’t minded—okay, truthfully, it had bothered him a lot, but he’d told himself he just needed time to convince Steve—and thank heaven it had turned out Steve was bisexual, because convincing Steve to like cock would’ve been really, really hard otherwise—and that they’d get on the same page eventually.

And they had! Well, maybe not completely. Tony’s starting to suspect he has deeper feelings than he’d initially realized, but he can be patient, even though he hates being patient, especially when Steve is initiating kisses and pulling him into secluded corners and generally acting like being with Tony is one of his favorite things ever.

He thinks it’s almost as much of a surprise to Steve as it is to Tony, because he always looks slightly baffled but somehow still delighted by the turn of events, and that makes Tony’s heart do little flips in his chest. He knows Steve has next to no experience doing this type of thing, but it’s so _easy_ between them, like they’ve already worked out all the kinks—sadly, not those type of kinks, but soon hopefully—and they just get each other.

Steve’s not in love with him, not yet anyway, but Tony’s beginning to seriously think that maybe one day he will be.

“Give him a heads-up, JARVIS,” he says as he enters his code to Steve’s floor. It’s a little presumptuous of him, although his house, his rules, but if he rings the bell, Steve will stop whatever he’s doing in order to come to the door instead of just telling JARVIS to let him in, so really, he’s doing Steve a favor.

“Certainly, Sir.”

He makes his way to Steve’s gym since he’d already had JARVIS locate Steve for him, and he rolls his eyes when he sees Steve unwinding the tape on one of his hands.

“Keep going,” he tells him. “I came down to join you.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, and Tony nods, heading for the speed bag. It’s conveniently situated in such a way that Tony can watch Steve’s back as he goes to town, because that is a sight that’s not to be missed. 

Working out is invigorating in one way while watching Steve is invigorating in another, and it’s been a long time since he’s exercised with an erection. He hasn’t missed it, all things considered, in particular since he knows the only relief he’s going to get is from his own hand later on. Steve isn’t quite there yet, and Tony gets that, he does, so he doesn’t pout much—okay, well, like a little, but he’s not serious. Mostly.

It’s just that it’s kind of like putting a starving man in front of a banquet table and asking him to wait without any guarantee that he’ll ever get to eat, and meanwhile, they keep adding plate after plate of delicious food to the table, and if they’d tortured Tony like this in Afghanistan, he would’ve totally made them whatever they’d wanted.

What’s funny is that he doesn’t even _have_ that much experience with the whole gay sex thing. Frottage, sure, frottage is always good. Mutually exchanging hand jobs and blow jobs? He’s totally down with that. Anything else though? Well, it’s always seemed like too much work since he was frequently tipsy or in the bathroom/closet/pantry of some public place, and it hasn’t been lack of interest so much as lack of opportunity. Steve makes him want to rectify that situation, however. A lot. In every room of every house he owns and in every combination. 

Watching the way Steve’s muscles kind of ripple all over the place and hearing the occasional grunt lead to decidedly non-pure thoughts. Dirty, _filthy_ thoughts as a matter of fact, and Tony’s just wondering what Steve would think about letting Tony rim him while Steve stands there, bent over and using the punching bag as support when Steve finally finishes. 

Luckily, Tony’s moved to the stationary bike by that point, which by the way the plastic film is still on the cover, Steve has never used, so Tony avoids offending Steve’s sensibilities by speeding up and hunching forward a bit just to be on the safe side.

“Almost done here,” he gasps. “You go ahead and shower, and I’ll meet you at the elevators in twenty minutes. Go to lunch at that Greek place you liked? Maybe get a milkshake afterward?” It’s a thing, okay? Teasing himself by watching Steve do things that can be taken sexually and then going home to masturbate a lot. Whatever, it gets him through the day.

“Sounds good,” Steve says, and he gives Tony a quick peck, but when he lifts his head up, instead of leaving, he bites his bottom lip and looks at Tony for a second before lowering his head for another kiss and then another, and before Tony knows it, they’re making out awkwardly over the handle bars and Tony’s deciding he’s going to work out with Steve every day if this is his reward, fuck.

They eventually do go to lunch, and Tony entertains Steve by telling him about the one time he’d made a live-scale replica of the _Flyer_ , the plane the Wright brothers had built, but had added rocket jets just because. Steve makes this amused but still judgmental face until Tony asks if he’s ever done anything reckless, and then he’s laughing sheepishly and telling Tony about the time he jumped a motorcycle over the heads of some Nazis. The next thing he knows, they’re trying to show each other up with some of the stupid shit they’ve done, and Tony can’t keep the smile off his face.

Steve is . . . Steve is everything. And Tony doesn’t know when that happened, when Steve took over so much of his heart, but he can’t bring himself to care, just wants to wallow in the feeling and savor each and every second.

So of course that’s when they both get the call from SHIELD, and seriously, what the ever loving fuck. They hadn’t even made it to the milkshakes yet.

He drives them to SHIELD headquarters, and Fury’s standing at the door to meet them.

“I told you not to wait up for me, sweetheart,” Tony says, batting his eyelashes, but then he stops, starts tensing up, because Fury’s expression is even more stern than usual, and that’s not terrifying or anything.

“Barton’s been compromised,” Fury says as SHIELD agents surround them, weapons drawn. “And there’s a good chance either or both of you have been, too.”


	7. Chapter 7

Steve watches as Clint thrashes around on the table, straining against the padded restraints. The walls are soundproofed so he can’t hear what Clint’s screaming, but Fury’s already told him he just keeps repeating one word over and over again: Natasha.

Clint had sent three agents to the hospital before they’d realized the extent of his condition, and when they’d thrown him into a holding room, he’d beat at the door and walls in order to get out, had clawed at his face and arms when that hadn’t worked. Now’s he completely immobilized, with cuffs on his wrists and ankles, belts across his torso and limbs, and a gag that allows him to partially talk but prevents him from biting off his tongue.

Steve hears the doctors arguing about drug dosages—Clint’s waking up too early each time; they’re worried about the toll on his body—and he glances over at them, but that means seeing Natasha as she stares into Clint’s room, and he can’t do that for long before he has to look away.

They haven’t talked much since she’d debriefed him about Clint, but there’s not a whole lot left to say while they wait to find Loki.

_“With Loki still at large, Colonel Fury’s been holding us back, keeping us to minor assignments in case he needed to pull us, but he finally agreed to give us something more substantial a few weeks ago. Clint was against it, argued it wasn’t in the best interests of SHIELD. He said we were better utilized close to home. I teased him about getting soft,” she says with a crooked, pained smile._

_“We did a few joint assignments, posing as a couple, and everything seemed fine at first. Clint, however, started to object when we separated for our individual tasks, said we were more effective together. He even shadowed me a couple of times. I should have called off the job,” she says, and Steve recognizes the guilt that flashes on her face. It’s an expression he knows all too well._

_“I thought I could handle Clint, calm him down and get him focused. But then he punched someone for touching my wrist. Clint says he thought he saw something in his hand, but Fury yanked us both. He sent me on another assignment and kept Clint back. Clint didn’t handle that well.”_

He waits until Clint’s sedated, until he’s calm and still and the horrible tension in Natasha’s body has finally eased before he goes over and murmurs, “I have to go.”

She doesn’t turn away from Clint but says, “Thank you for coming. I’ll be down to visit Tony in a bit.”

“Thanks. I’ll let him know.”

He walks with heavy feet back to Tony’s cell. It’s brand new. SHIELD had built it after the last incident where Tony and Steve had been locked up together (and it had taken all of Steve’s self-control not to punch Fury in the face because of it).

It’s been over two weeks since they’d realized Loki had finished his spell. SHIELD had been stumbling around in the dark initially. They hadn’t been able to find any traces of chemicals or foreign substances in Clint’s blood, and they didn’t know who would’ve been able to brainwash him without leaving any evidence for them to find, or what they’d hoped to accomplish by it when Clint was more a danger to himself than others. 

The only other option was that Clint was having a breakdown triggered by some personal and unknown trauma, except apparently nothing had been flagged on his most recent psychological evaluation, and he’d always been known for being reliable and in control of himself in the field. The only time he’d ever shown any sign of instability had been during Loki’s first attack when he’d been magically controlled. The last time he’d been in Loki’s vicinity, however, had been almost a year ago, and surely, that couldn’t be behind his current condition, _especially_ since the whole team had been exposed. If this was some kind of magically-induced psychosis, wouldn’t the others be just as affected? 

That question had led to Fury bringing them in. Everything been fine for the first two days. On the third day or surveillance, however, while Steve and Natasha had continued to deal with the captivity stoically, Tony had become even more restless than usual. When the doctors had gone in to check his vital signs, they’d found that his blood pressure and heart rate had spiked considerably. They’d tried to bring them down, but nothing had worked for long until Steve had been allowed to visit. 

Tony’s history and the need to verify Steve’s condition meant that it had taken another ten days before the scientists could conclude that Tony was under the influence of the spell while Steve and Natasha appeared to be unaffected. Since then, however, Tony’s gotten worse, while Clint . . . Clint is near the breaking point.

“Steve!” Tony says, looking overjoyed to see him, even though he’s in a fifteen by fifteen room with only books and magazines to keep him occupied. He gets up and walks to the barrier separating them, placing his hands on the glass. Steve mirrors the action so they’d be touching if they could.

“Hi, Tony,” he replies, his heart spasming with the way Tony stares at him, like Tony can’t get enough, like he’d drown in the sight if he could. “How are you doing?”

“Well, other than the crappy food and even crappier accommodations, I’m just peachy.” Tony edges closer until his breath is fogging up the glass, and there’s so much hunger in his gaze that Steve wants to flinch back, but he doesn’t. Tony’s the one hurting. The least Steve can do is make it as bearable as he can. “How about you?

“I’m alright,” he says and tries to sound like he’s telling the truth.

They talk for a long time, Steve telling Tony what’s going on in the world, telling him stories about himself when Tony gets bored as he always does. Any information about Steve keeps him entranced, even if he’s heard it before. Steve keeps talking, trying to recall something he hasn’t told Tony before, trying to meet Tony’s starving gaze. He’s always particularly sensitive after seeing Clint, too conscious of what awaits Tony if they can’t find Loki, too aware of how easy it would be to fail. He wants to be strong for Tony, but the pressure builds and builds until his words come out strangled.

“Hey, don’t be like that. It’s going to be okay,” Tony says, gentle and caring, and Steve has to suck in a shuddering breath. “We’ll find Loki, and we’ll get this resolved, and then things will go back to the way they were before, you’ll see.”

Steve nods, closing his eyes, and he presses his forehead against the barrier, registering the irony that Tony’s the one reassuring _him_. SHIELD has every available agent they have focused on finding Loki; Pepper has pulled over a hundred of Stark Enterprises’ top scientists off their own projects in order to work on this. They’ll find Loki. They have to.

The alternative, that Tony will end up like Clint, that Clint will go insane or possibly die from the strain of the drugs or because of the spell, is unthinkable. Steve will do whatever is in his power to keep that from happening. Even if it means that things will go back to the way they were before they’d encountered Loki the last time. Even if Tony will go back to hating him and justifiably so. 

His hand forms into a fist against his thigh, and he wonders what kind of man is concerned so much about himself when his friends and teammates are deteriorating right in front of him. 

Whatever happens, Tony will be better, _Clint_ will be better, and that’s more important than whether or not Tony will still care about him after it’s all over. 

He stays as long as he can, because Tony gets increasingly agitated when he’s gone for extended periods of time. The scientists don’t want to cause Tony any more stress than necessary in case it quickens the progression of his symptoms, although other than magic, they don’t know what the cause of his condition is, so they also warn him from spending _too_ much time with him in case exposure to Steve makes Tony worse.

He doesn’t know what’s too much or too little, but he tries to find a balance, ignoring how much it hurts having all these feelings for Tony and knowing they’re not reciprocated, ignoring the fear that this might be all that he ever gets.

Had he really ever believed he wasn’t interested in a relationship with Tony? It seems like the height of blindness now.

Steve had kind of thought that Peggy was the love of his life, that he’d never find anyone who would ever compare to her. He hadn’t expected to feel more than deep affection for Tony, but it seems almost fitting that Tony had taken him by such surprise. It’s what he’s done the whole time Steve’s known him after all.

He’d loved Peggy, still loves her in fact, but what with the war, he’d never gotten the chance to get to know her, not really, and he hadn’t been sure she even felt the same until the end. Tony, though, Tony is brash and insensitive and prickly, but he’s also funny and kind and loyal, and he had loved Steve . . . .

It still amazes him how much Tony had loved him.

Even if it was all a lie. 

It doesn’t stop a part of Steve from wishing he’d realized how much he loved Tony when he’d still had the chance. 

He thinks about it now and can’t help but regret how blind he’d been. All the clues had been there: the way he’d always wanted to spend time with Tony, how much happier he’d been in his presence, how he’d laughed easier, how he’d always found excuses to touch him. 

He doesn’t know if it’s easier now or harder that he’d wasted all that time, because he doesn’t have as many memories to add to his collection of might-have-beens, but he thinks he might want them more.

Steve leaves finally when Natasha comes, and they exchange nods as he goes, survivors on a field of battle with their injured screaming all around them.

He heads off to find Fury and get an update on the hunt for Loki. It won’t help, but it’s better than doing nothing.

\-----

Steve’s days fall into a pattern. Wake up, force himself to eat breakfast because he needs to keep his strength up for the upcoming battle, go see Tony, release what little tension he can working out, eat lunch, see Tony, work out again, grit his teeth and force himself to keep moving, eat dinner, see Tony, try to sleep but instead stare at the ceiling and pray for help.

The only thing that interrupts his schedule is the arrival of visitors. Natasha stops by every day, somehow cheerful and pleasant, talking to Tony as if everything’s normal. Bruce visits less frequently, spending most of his time trying to find Loki, but he keeps Tony engaged and interested, even if Tony’s eyes are always trained on Steve. A Colonel Rhodes comes by twice, but he sits with Tony for hours, and he looks physically drained when he leaves. Pepper is only able to make it out about once a week, but she stays for as long as she can. She always brings Happy with her, and it’s obvious from the way they interact that the three of them are close. She and Tony especially have such fondness for each other, real and deep and unlike what Tony feels for him, that Steve wonders what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for the spell. 

He tries to apologize, although he’s not sure what he’s sorry for the most. For being the object of Tony’s false affection? For stealing him away from her? For being weak enough to take what Tony had offered? They’re all true after all.

The conversation doesn’t turn out quite the way he’d expected.

“I was so lonely,” he admits, staring down at his hands, unsure if she could possibly understand. “And Tony was there, and he was a link to my past, and under all the jokes and sarcasm, he was so kind and attentive . . . He kept coming back, and I wanted him to, and when he told me that he was attracted to me, it was so easy to go along with it. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted someone to love _me_. I’m so sorry, Pepper—”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but this isn’t about you,” Pepper says quietly.

“No, of course not,” he says, upset that he’s messing this up when all he’d wanted to do was apologize and explain. “That’s not—”

“What I mean is, you’re acting as if it was your fault somehow, when Tony and I were already having trouble before this happened.”

“Really? But—but the two of you seemed so happy,” he says, remembering the way they’d interacted the few times Tony had invited him along.

“We were. Mostly. Every relationship has its ups and downs, and maybe we would still be together if Loki had never invaded.”

“I know,” he says, expression twisting with remorse, but she interrupts him before he can apologize again. 

“The first time. If Loki had never invaded the first time.”

“What do you mean?” 

"I knew that Tony didn't love me when he didn't leave a message."

"A message? I'm sorry, but—"

"When he was carrying the missile through the portal, and he thought he was going to die, he called me,” she says, her eyes going distant. “I didn't hear my phone over all the noise in the plane, so I only realized later that he’d called. He hadn’t even left a voicemail. I was . . . surprised at first. A little confused. It was hard to be angry with him, to even bring it up, when he’d nearly lost his life. If I’d had a choice between having Tony beside me, and having a message that Tony had left me, of course I would’ve picked Tony. But I kept thinking about it. Why would he do that? Why would he call but not say anything, when he had to have thought it would be the very last thing he’d ever leave me?”

She looks up at him, her eyes red and tired. “Wouldn’t you rather have the opportunity to say goodbye, or hear their goodbye, then have nothing at all?”

“Yes,” he tells her, remembering Peggy’s voice going with him into the dark. “Yes, I would.”

She nods. “So would I. I feel like so much of my and Tony’s relationship suffered because of bad timing and circumstances. Maybe we would’ve eventually talked things over if we hadn’t been in different cities all the time, but I had so much time alone to think about it again and again, and the distance made everything that much more difficult. And just when I’d reached the decision to end things or at least take a break, Loki showed up again, and Tony was in danger _again_ , and I couldn’t force myself to let go of him then. How do you that, let go of someone when you almost just lost them? I couldn’t do it. Except then I finally realized, there wasn’t ever going to be a _good_ time. It was never going to get easier, and I was hurting both of us by letting things drag on. I love Tony. And I know he loves me. But he didn’t love me _enough_ ,” Pepper says, laying her hand on his arm, “and that was never your fault, Steve.”

\-----

It’s been a month now, and hope is getting harder and harder to come by. Clint is . . . Steve can barely stand to think about the state he’s in, and Tony . . .

It’s bad enough that Tony’s been confined for so long, but the boredom is exacting its own toll—he finishes complex puzzles in minutes, draws ream after ream of diagrams that no one can make sense of and then tears them into pieces—and it’s gotten so that the only relief Tony gets is when Steve is around to divert him. 

Steve has to believe with all his might that Tony can still be saved. Because Tony is showing more and more signs of severe withdrawal every time Steve leaves, and the clock seems to tick faster with each passing day.

When the alarms finally sound, Steve is trying to convince Tony to rest. It’s frightening how worn Tony looks, pared down to nothing. He’s not eating well or sleeping, and Steve is long past the point of desperation. He’s just starting to offer Tony an exchange—he’ll sleep outside of Tony’s cell if Tony agrees to close his eyes—when they both jump by the blaring noise. 

“Steve?” Tony says, but Steve is too preoccupied to reassure him. Loki. It has to be Loki. Fuck, please, let it be Loki. 

“I’ll be back,” he tells Tony, knowing the promise won’t mean anything to him, and he runs toward the door. He forces himself to not turn back when he hears his name, the first hint of distress already in Tony’s voice, but it stays with him, keeps echoing in his head, louder and louder, and not even the wailing alarms can fully drown it out.

“We’ve got the fucker,” Fury says as soon as Steve bursts into the room, and he staggers in relief, head ringing, and he has to hold onto the doorjamb in order to stay upright. Later, he’ll take cold comfort in the fact that he felt _only_ relief, that when the time came, he’d thought only of his teammates and not himself. 

Fury’s still talking, although Steve is having trouble registering the words. He looks up and realizes Natasha’s in the room, her face blank, her eyes dark and intent, and Bruce, he’s there, too, looking exhausted and grim, as if it’s his fault that they haven’t found Loki sooner. 

“We can be there in a little over an hour,” Fury tells them, and Steve nods tightly and goes to suit up, his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest.

\-----

It’s just the three of them, Bruce, Natasha and Steve. SHIELD agents are around, but Loki’s been sighted at a club in Chicago, and their job is to protect the civilians while the team keeps Loki occupied.

Standing in front of the entrance, waiting for the signal to go in, Steve misses Tony more than he would’ve thought possible. Tony would’ve had some quick one-liner ready that would’ve made everyone laugh or smile or just roll their eyes, but it would’ve reduced the tension, would’ve helped everyone be able to concentrate on what they needed to do instead of fixating on all the various ways things could go wrong. Tony would’ve swept into the club like some kind of avenging god, his repulsors glowing, and Steve would’ve known that whatever their differences, Tony had his back. And while both Natasha and Bruce are there for him now, it’s nowhere close to the same.

If Loki had planned it, Steve doesn’t know if he could’ve picked a worse place for SHIELD to try and capture him. Steve can’t hear anything in his earpiece over the booming music; it’s too dark to see past a few rows of faces; and there are way too many people packed into the area. The potential for hostages or casualties is enormous, and Steve knows he has to take Loki down as fast as he can and hopes that the SHIELD agents are able to do their jobs. 

Of course, then he sees Natasha make her way into the crowd, people parting left and right for her, and maybe he’s the only one having trouble maneuvering around. Well, him and Bruce, who seems to be standing in a sea of isolation, looking uneasy every time someone gets too close. 

Steve gives a small shake of his head and tries to worm his way around the edges of the crowd. He avoids the bar, because there’s more light there, and he doesn’t want Loki to catch sight of him. With his cowl off and a button-down shirt to cover the distinctive top of his uniform, he shouldn’t particularly stand out, although the bag he’s holding to hide his shield is a little odd for a club. Loki would have to be pretty close to notice it, though, which means Steve should be able to grab him if it came to that. 

Just as he’s starting his third circuit and trying to ignore the dread that’s building in the back of his throat that they’ve got it wrong somehow and Loki isn’t here, the lights start flashing. Steve’s first thought is that Loki’s discovered them and is attacking, but no one’s screaming or running away. They all keep dancing as a matter of fact, and he realizes it’s part of the entertainment. He finds the effect disturbing, the frenzied and twisting bodies frozen in time with each flash as the music reaches a pounding crescendo— 

And then he’s standing on a marble balcony, ears ringing and squinting into the bright sun, while Loki relaxes on a bench, back against the railing, and watches him.

“Captain Rogers. What a pleasant surprise,” he says, and the shield is in Steve’s hand before he’s even finished talking. It’s all he can do to not rush Loki and force him to give him the answers he needs. 

_Tony looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world, and Steve knowing it might as well be true. Clint screaming Natasha’s name.  
_  
He can feel his arm tensing, trembling with the urge—the _need_ —to throw the shield. 

The only thing that stops him is the certainty that if he loses, he’s tossing away any chance Clint and Tony have of being cured.

“Somehow,” he says and tries not to choke on the words, “I don’t believe you’re very surprised at all.”

“I had expected you sooner, truth be told,” Loki says, laying his arms across the railing, “but apparently the welfare of your compatriots isn’t—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Steve growls, his leather gloves creaking as his fingers curl tighter and tighter.

The smile that spreads across Loki’s face is almost enough to break Steve’s resolve.

“It’s called the Spell of Insidious Love. Do you like it?”

“Take it off them.”

Loki shakes his head slowly, smile turning sharp. “I scarcely think you are in a position to demand anything from me right now, Captain. Did you know that love spells are extremely difficult to cast? One must engender an emotion that has caused people to throw away their lives. Start wars that span generations. Drive men to madness,” he says, looking through his lashes at Steve, and Steve thinks he’s going to shake apart. He needs to be clear-headed, not engulfed by the rage that tries to devour him every time he looks at Loki.

“So why then? Why do it? Why go to all the effort when you already had us separated and vulnerable?” he asks, forcing himself to breathe, to try to understand. Loki _wants_ to talk, to gloat that he’s got them on their knees, and no matter how hard it is to hear, Steve’s willing to let him if there’s a possibility that he might let something slip that can save Tony and Clint.

“You misunderstand me, Captain. Your people always have. I informed Mr. Stark that I was on Earth for entirely altruistic reasons, although I fear he failed to believe me. But then, you must be aware of how stubborn he is.”

“ _What_ reasons?” Steve asks, thinking about the way Tony had not only survived being held by terrorists but had created something incredible in the process, how he’d then used the Iron Man suit to help people instead of making it another technology available to the highest bidder, even with offers and pressure from all sides. He thinks about how Tony had stood up to him and proved him wrong when Steve had said he wasn’t a hero. He does know how stubborn Tony is. It’s one of the things he admires about him.

“Why, to correct some of the wrongs I’ve committed," Loki says, sitting up and spreading his hands, and Steve knows the words are hollow, even if they come off sounding polished and perfect.

“What do you mean?”

"The Tesseract cannot be used to such an extent without leaving a . . . residue, a trail as it were, that other, more fearsome beings will not hesitate to follow in search of stealing that power. It mattered not when I had the Tesseract and an army at my beck and call, but now? They would be very wroth indeed to discover they had traveled all that distance for nothing.”

“So you’re saying you’re here to . . .”

“To ensure your insignificant planet remains unnoticed for that much longer.”

“And why would you do that?” Steve asks, calculating the angle he’d need to make the shield ricochet off the wall and then the column to Loki’s left.

“Why indeed?” Loki says and stands. “I sense, Captain, that like Mr. Stark, you don’t believe me.” He pauses, putting his hand to his chest. “How remiss of me. I did not think to ask. How _is_ Mr. Stark faring lately?”

“You already know,” he says, gritting his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. Tony’s going to be okay. Steve’s going to make sure of it.

“I suspect,” Loki corrects him, “but I am eager to hear his state from someone who has seen him firsthand. And Clint, of course. Dear Clint.”

“Take. Off. The spell,” he growls, and he can’t stop the anger from rising.

“Did you know that Clint will always be one of mine? I have possessed him, mind and body, and he will never be rid of me now.”

“You’re lying.”

“Do you think so?” Loki taps one finger to his lips, tilting his head. “I have my suspicions, but I admit to a certain curiosity. Tell me, was it the man of iron or the archer who sought you out? Or both? Did they beg to warm your bed—”

His shield stops inches from Loki’s body and hovers there in the air as Loki tsks.

“Were you aware that the Aesir have been to Earth before? Why else do you think your people still spread stories of gods that carry our names? The Bifrost allowed our warriors to journey here to battle the Jotun, but the war was long, and frequent use of the Bifrost to the same planet was unwise. So Odin created a secondary dwelling here and left it standing in case there should ever come a time when it was necessary once again. There are a handful of locations around the world where it is accessible, although only by one who knows how to unlock its doors.” Loki snaps his fingers and the shield falls to the ground. “There is magic etched in every stone, in the very air you breathe. I am stronger here. You would be wise not to try something so foolish again.”

“Why are you really here, Loki?” Steve asks, vaguely amazed at how calm he sounds when his heart is hammering a mile a minute. He’s already lost so much. Whatever it takes, he _won’t_ lose Tony, too. “You can’t expect me to—” 

“Expect? I expect nothing from you, and thus, I am not disappointed by your failure to understand.”

He lifts his eyes from his shield lying at Loki’s feet and asks, “Where’s Thor?” It’s something the team’s been wondering about, railing about, because Thor had assured them Loki wouldn’t be a threat to them anymore, but here they stand. “The last time you were here, Thor showed up almost immediately, but we haven’t heard anything from him in all these months.”

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Loki asks mockingly, but a muscle in his jaw ticks.

“If you’d escaped, he would’ve—”

“Are you wondering if my _family_ knows what I’m doing? Let me assure you, Captain, Thor knows _exactly_ where I am and why I am here.”

It doesn’t make sense; none of it makes sense. Why would Thor take Loki back to Asgard in chains and then release him soon after in order to make more trouble, not only allowing him to return to Earth but condoning it as well? Why go to all that effort, when he could’ve left Loki to take over the planet in the first place? That only works if the reason Thor had come out had been to keep Loki from establishing his own base of power, but that doesn’t seem right, not with the way Thor had kept trying to convince Loki to return voluntarily. Thor had been desperate to have Loki go back with him and talk to their father—

Or is _this_ Loki reconciling with his father? Is he trying to take over the world on his father’s behalf?

No, if Loki were here to try and conquer Earth with his father’s support, he wouldn’t have come alone. He would’ve had a new army at his back. 

So is Loki telling the _truth_? Or at least part of it?

They’d never figured out why Loki had cast a spell that had taken so long to go into effect. Why not choose something more immediate? More destructive at the very least? He’d had Tony and Clint at his mercy, but he hadn’t tried to kill them—

Unless. Unless he _couldn’t_. Unless Odin had forbidden it.

“They’re _making_ you do this,” Steve says slowly, and it comes out more of a question than a statement.

“Making?” Loki scoffs, lips curling. “No, mortal, this is my . . . penance.”

“There’s nothing voluntary about this.”

“Is there not?” Loki asks, and Steve narrows his eyes. According to Thor, Loki didn’t do anything without reason, never stated something outright when he could imply, never led unless it was down a meandering path. His plans were always layers upon hidden layers, and if he wasn’t being forced into this, then he was here for reasons of his own.

“You purposefully revealed yourself the first time,” he says and knows it’s true.

Loki cocks his head and smiles. “And why would I do something like that?”

“You wanted us to come find you,” he says, the puzzle pieces slowly coming together. “You knew we wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”

Loki waits.

“You were planning to cast that spell from the very beginning,” Steve says, feeling more and more certain. “You wanted to get revenge on the team.”

“Revenge?” Loki’s eyebrows go up. “What an interesting choice of words, Captain. Revenge implies equal measure, does it not? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? Do you truly believe that a spell meant to fade with time is one and the same as having one’s right to rule unjustly stolen from me? No, no, I think even you would agree this was not _vengeance_. Retribution is not yet mine.”

It sends a shiver down Steve’s back to hear the words. Loki may have bent his head for whatever reason, but he’s far from broken, and Steve has no doubt that this isn’t the last of their dealings with Loki. Not even close. For now, however, he’s more concerned with what Loki has revealed.

“Fade in time? The spell wears off? _When_?” 

“Did you know the Bifrost is destroyed?” Loki asks, going off on another one of his tangents that revealed nothing and everything. “By my dear brother’s hand. Without it, the cost of sending even one man across the universes is high, high enough that Odin will not undertake it lightly. And what was this after all but a game of mischief? Something to relieve the tedium on this dull planet of yours as I labored to undo the damage wrought upon your world.” 

“A game,” Steve repeats and can’t help but think of Tony and the way he’d called Steve’s name when he’d left. He’s never envied Thor his ability to call his hammer back to him more than at that moment. “You wanted to see how we’d react. What lengths we’d go to and if we were capable of breaking the spell. You wanted to see how _Odin_ would react if you threatened us.”

Loki smiles, wide and full of teeth. “I should’ve called the woman to me. She was much more interesting a foe. Farewell, Captain. This has been most enlightening.”

“No!” Steve says upon hearing him. It’d taken them almost a year to find Loki, and he hasn’t learned anything that would save Tony and Clint. “ _Wait_ —”


	8. Chapter 8

Tony wakes up feeling like he’s gone ten rounds with the Hulk instead of just one with Loki.

“Fuck, my head,” he mutters and opens his eyes to see he’s in the hospital with Fury, Pepper, Happy, Coulson, Bruce, and Steve all staring down at him, with expressions ranging from careful interest to I’ve-got-five-of-the-six-Powerball-numbers-and-they’re-just-about-to-reveal-the-last-one hopefulness.

“Shit,” he rasps. “What’s happened now?”

\-----

He doesn’t mean to burst out laughing, but—

“This is a joke, right?” 

“No, Tony,” Pepper says, and he sobers up at her tone of voice. It’s just the two of them, the rest of the gang having been shooed out by the nurse. “You and Steve were dating.”

“But Steve and I can barely stand each other, and you and I are—”

“No,” she says with a wan half-smile. “No, we’re not.”

“What?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why this news is more shocking to him than anything else she’s said, but it is. “ _Why_?”

Pepper’s eyes soften, and she picks up his left hand and holds it between hers. 

“Because it was time.”

“What does that even _mean_? It’s not—it wasn’t _time_. We were—I was— _Pepper_ ,” he says and clutches onto her. “I love you.”

“I know you do, Tony. I know you do,” she says, and her smile turns shaky. “I love you, too.”

“Did I—was it something I did? Because whatever happened, whatever I may or may not have done, I wasn’t in my right mind,” he says, and even to his own ears, he sounds lost. “You can’t blame me for that. I wouldn’t have—” 

“Tony,” she says, and he falls silent. 

They sit like that for a long time, just holding each other and not talking, and it feels like an ending. It feels like goodbye.

“What if we give it another try?” he asks finally, because he has to, even knowing the answer already.

“I missed you,” she whispers, eyes shining with unshed tears, and damn it, she’s not the only one on the verge of crying. “Don’t you ever worry me like that again.”

“I missed you, too,” he says, even though he doesn’t remember, but it has to be true. He’s known Pepper long enough to understand what she’s leaving unsaid, and he clutches onto her so tightly that it has to be painful. She doesn’t pull away, though, and he can’t force himself to let go. “So that’s it?”

“That’s it for our torrid love affair,” she says, lifting one hand and brushing his hair back tenderly. “But I’ll always be here beside you.”

\----- 

“Clint’s still in a coma?” he asks, chilled by the thought of what Clint’s undergone and how close he’d been to the same.

“He’s showing signs of wanting to wake up. The doctors are optimistic that it’s just a matter of time now.”

Neither of them mentions that no one knows what state he’ll be in when he does.

“How’s Natasha doing?”

“She’s as well as can be expected. She wanted to be here, but—”

“No, that’s perfectly understandable. She’s where she needs to be.”

\-----

“Can I just say how insulted I am that no one recognized the difference between normal me and enchanted me?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Tony, you acted _exactly_ the same. You said the same ill-timed bad jokes, you kept the same ridiculous schedule, you annoyed and/or avoided the same important people, you played the same loud music—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be extra nice to me right now?” he asks, sticking out his lower lip. “I’ve been sick. _Brainwashed_. You should be fluffing my pillows and bringing me ice cream and agreeing to everything I say in order to boost my self-esteem.”

“I really don’t think your self-esteem needs a boost,” she says, grinning, and she leans down to kiss his forehead. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll sneak in some ice cream the next time I visit.”

\-----

“Really? And no one suspected a thing?” he asks Bruce after Pepper’s gone out to make some calls, because there are some things you can ask your ex-girlfriend, and some things you really, really can’t.

“Well, you and Steve have been spending a lot of time together. It wasn’t like you started spouting poetry and buying him flowers from day one, and it’s been almost a year since we all got shoved together. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that you two would get a lot closer.”

“Okay, so, I can understand why I’d want to pursue him—and by that, I mean the spell. But why would _he_ want to—what am I saying? It’s me. I’m irresistible.”

“Right,” Bruce says, and seriously, this is one of the reasons why he likes Bruce so much, the way he’s able to convey so much with so little. 

He’s not sure what to do about the fact that he and Steve have apparently been doing the horizontal mamba. How had there been room in the bed for Tony, Steve, and all of Steve’s issues? 

“At least I can use the amnesia to avoid talking about this for a while. I am a pro at avoiding talking about things.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. He lives three floors beneath you, after all, and you bump into each other all the time. You’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”

Tony stares. “He lives in Stark Tower?”

Bruce rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, about that. We’re kind of _all_ living in the Tower now.”

“Everyone’s living in my tower? Why the—when did that happen? Don’t answer that.” His expression turns tragic. “My tower. My beautiful tower. Did you know Steve called it ugly?”

“Um, yes. If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty positive he likes it now.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have to see the exterior when he’s on the inside,” Tony mutters darkly. “Okay, just break it to me now. Is there anything else I need to know? You might as well heap all the bad news on me at once.”

“Really?” Bruce says, eyeing him sideways. “Wouldn’t you prefer to hear it gradually and—”

“I only believe in sugar-coating if I’m going to eat it. Hit me.”

“Okay. If you say so. Well, other than breaking up with Pepper, having a green rage monster, two spy-assassins and a science experiment gone right for a change living with you, you also promised Fury all kinds of tech for free, have experienced a marked decrease in productivity because of how much time you’ve been spending with Steve or the spell or both, took a huge hit in stock when rumors started spreading that the reason you weren’t making any public appearances lately was because you were deathly ill, and probably gained like twenty pounds from all of Steve’s baking.”

“Blasphemy!” Tony gasps. “I’m as svelte and perfect as always.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Out of all that, the weight is what you focus on?”

“Pepper and I will be okay, I customized those floors for a reason, I can fix whatever is broken, and stock prices change when I fucking sneeze,” Tony says, grinning, and he pats his stomach, “but dieting is a bitch, not going to lie.”

===============

It takes a while before Tony asks for him, but Steve understands. He’s prepared himself for this.

Their conversation is just as stilted as he’d thought it’d be, Tony’s jokes—not unkind and meant to relieve the tension—are just as uncomfortable, the way Tony looks at him just as wrong. 

He grasps that this is Tony’s way of letting him down as gently as he can, because Tony doesn’t remember, not one conversation or outing or quiet night spent together, and of course Tony has more important things to worry about than someone who hadn’t even recognized he loved him until it was too late.

Steve kind of blocks out what Tony’s saying, making a noise or nodding when there’s a pause in order to encourage Tony’s monologue, because he doesn’t want it to end. When it’s over, he’s going to have to walk out that door and be a stranger to Tony again, so there’s no rush on his part to finish.

Instead, he watches Tony, the nervous flight of his hands, the crinkle his brows, traces the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He takes a pained pride in the way Tony looks away from him, because it’s not something Tony had been capable of doing a couple of days ago.

It’s worth it, he thinks as Tony talks and talks, and the thought settles him, keeps him from saying anything he shouldn’t when all he wants to do is convince Tony to give him another chance, a real one this time. He doesn’t want Tony’s love if it’s forced, and Tony looks so much better now, the hollows under his eyes filling in, his face no longer ravaged by mindless want. He looks tired but like he’s recovering, and that’s what matters the most.

Yes, it hurts. More than Steve had expected even, and he’d expected a lot. But it’s worth it. 

It is.

\-----

When Clint wakes up, it’s to much less fanfare than Tony, but that’s just because Tony had shown signs of stirring for hours before he’d opened his eyes, while Clint goes from being asleep to awake in seconds.

Steve is just getting up to go as Natasha settles into the chair next to Clint. They never leave him alone. Someone, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Coulson, even Fury and Hill take a turn, is always with him. 

Steve looks back when he hears Natasha sharp inhale, heart speeding up, because there are only a couple of reasons that she would make that noise—

And there’s Clint blinking up at her, expression slightly puzzled.

“What are you doing here, Nat?” Clint asks, voice raspy. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready to head out? And why am I chained to the bed? Don’t tell me it’s because of De Luca. That didn’t work last time, and it’s not going to—are you _crying_?” 

Steve slips out and takes his time walking to the nurses’ station to tell them Clint’s woken up.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s strange how easy it is to slip back into his life, like the gaping empty section never even happened and the fact that he can’t remember the past year doesn’t matter. Tony gets JARVIS to update him on any designs he’s created and whatever business decisions he’s made, but that takes all of one week and then he’s caught up. 

(Okay, one week of constant working and inventing the hell out of shit, just to prove he can—suck it, Bruce!—and not sleeping basically because he’s already lost a lot of time and is vaguely terrified of losing more, but whatever, he’s fine.) 

But after that, it’s just business as usual. Meetings and more meetings, tinkering with the suit, inventing random shit, attending several parties, and bam. Life à la Tony Stark.

The thing is, though, is that he’s not really in the partying mood, and he’s _never_ in the meeting mood, and with all of that, he ends up having a lot of free time.

Tony admits that he can get a little hyper-focused, and that’s what happens now. He spends a lot of his newly acquired leisure time trying to figure out ways to kick Loki’s ass all the way back to Asgard. Loki’s still out there, and he has every intention of coming back and creating more havoc. He’s said as much to Steve, and Tony wants to be prepared for when it happens. He’d nearly broken the team this time around. Tony’s not going to give him the chance to do even worse. 

The fact that researching gives him some semblance of control amidst all the feelings of anger and helplessness, well, that’s neither here nor there. 

Unfortunately, it’s not going as well as it could. There’s surprisingly a lot of information out there regarding magic. Ninety nine point nine percent of it, however, is absolute bullshit. 

“Fuck,” Tony mutters. There is just no way in hell that dancing naked under a waning gibbous moon with flower garlands and what amounts to a spice rack-worth of herbs is going to help him.

He has doctorates, lots of doctorates, but none of them are in Ancient Sumerian or Babylonian or Cyrillic or Klingon—okay, okay, he actually knows a little bit of Klingon, but it’s not his fault; it’d basically been a requirement for one of his classes back at MIT—so the fact that anything potentially worthwhile seems be in ancient _something_ and all the rest of it is complete and utter nonsense means that researching online is getting him nowhere. 

He _does_ manage to find a few names floating around, supposed “experts” in the field, although he’s not sure how much he believes, or how much information he’s willing to share. Still, it’s the most promising lead he’s had so far, so he sends out a few emails, makes some telephone calls, writes a few letters freehand—mystical and weird are the ways of the magical community—and waits to see if this is another dead end. 

When he’s not slogging through forums about crystals and talismans and how to make love charms, he spends a lot of time in his lab. It’s always been a safe haven for him, and thankfully, it continues to be. His lab is the one place he doesn’t feel like eyes are watching him—or maybe it’s that he _knows_ JARVIS and DUM-E are watching his back—and he builds and he builds and he builds.

He’s not okay, he realizes, as he looks at the twenty weapons he’s created so far to rend, blast, disintegrate and generally do all sorts of lethal things to Loki. It doesn’t feel like he’s every going to be okay.

Tony walks to the worktable and starts designing the plans for number twenty one. 

The rest of his free time is devoted to finding ways to get his memory back. He hadn’t thought it possible, but that’s even more frustrating than finding a way to combat Loki’s magic. He talks to neurosurgeons and psychiatrists and psychologists and people who like incense way too much and anyone who claims to know anything really, but none of it helps. He doesn’t experience flashbacks or feel like there are hints of memory just waiting to bombard him with the right trigger. There’s nothing there at all. Not one thing. His last memory is of Loki casting the spell, and then he’s waking up to see everyone standing over him.

He stops going when they all offer the same advice, telling him to give it time, that his mind will recover from the trauma as much as it can. What do they know? It’s not like they’ve ever had a case like his before, although he doesn’t tell them it’s magically-induced, because there’s doctor-patient confidentiality and then there’s “let’s commit him for his own good.” 

If “time” is the only help they can give him, then he doesn’t need to be wasting it by spending hours and hours with them.

He can waste it by being bored instead.

Part of the problem is that pretty much nothing exciting had happened the whole freaking year he’d been cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. There hadn’t even been any international incidents that had required his attention and almost all the flying he’d done had been for recreational purposes only. 

The world’s still reeling from Loki’s previous attack apparently, and it’s been relatively quiet on the terrorist front—although Tony suspects Rhodey’s been using War Machine more frequently than the occasions the press has been privy to—and now that he thinks about it, with all the footage of the Avengers, the bad guy groups know better than to do something unless they can do it big, because otherwise they’re going to get slapped down and slapped down hard at that. 

Which means that other than the normal day-in and day-out stuff, Tony had basically spent a fucking year cozying up to Steve Rogers. What the hell.

He hasn’t thought about it much—hasn’t allowed himself to honestly—because it just pisses him off every time he does. 

Not because he fell in love, or because he fell in love with Steve—well, a little bit because he fell in love with Steve—but because it’s such a waste. A year of his life. Gone. Just to prove Loki could.

And yes, fuck, fine, he knows that he and Pepper were on the brink of breaking up before it actually happened, and he _knows_ that life isn’t fair.

But it’s not _fair_ that he wasn’t there for the end of it, that he didn’t get a chance to fight, that he’s lost and mourned her and he doesn’t remember a single second of it.

Pepper is—Pepper _was_ the one person that he’d thought would last, who’d stick by him to the bitter end, through ups and downs and sickness and old age. They’d danced around each other for years and years, and he’d been okay with that, because he’d been waiting until they’d been ready, both of them, to take that next step. Pepper was his ideal woman, and he knows it hadn’t worked, but oh, how he’d wanted it to.

And he _hates_ that all he feels now is this stupid bittersweet regret. When Pepper had told him in the hospital that they weren’t dating anymore, the words hadn’t even made _sense_ , because _of course_ they were together. He’d had plans. He’d been figuring it out, and maybe if he’d had more time, if he hadn’t been whammied by Loki’s voodoo magic, he would’ve changed things around.

The more days that pass, however, the more he gets used to the idea that that there won’t be any more late Friday nights or lazy Saturday mornings with her, that all the sexually-charged banter and flirting has stopped, that it’s Pepper and Tony now and not Pepper-and-Tony. The more days that pass, the more he agrees that it was the right decision to make, because he misses something, but it’s not Pepper.

How weird is it to look over to the side in order to share a joke, only to realize no one’s there. To realize he didn’t even know who he was missing or why he was missing him or her or them.

The obvious answer is that he’s missing Steve. Except, it’s _Steve_ , so there’s nothing obvious about it.

In his more melodramatic moments, he imagines it’s what a phantom limb would feel like, there but not there, as if he could reach out and touch it even though all he encounters is empty space. 

He doesn’t _want_ to love Steve—he’s _not_ in love with Steve—but it feels like he should be, and what’s he supposed to do with that? 

He’s barely even _seen_ Steve recently, although he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s avoiding Steve, or Steve’s avoiding him, or they’re mutually avoiding each other. He’s kind of been waiting for Steve to leave, truth be told, because Steve had been doing his whole cross-country finding himself excursion, and Tony would’ve thought he’d jump at the opportunity to get right back to it.

But Steve stays, and it’s not like Tony’s going anywhere, so he stays, too, and they’re two ships passing in the night or something.

It’s too difficult talking to Steve. There’s always a feeling of _expectation_ somehow, not that Steve says or does anything, he’s very cautious as a matter of fact, but it’s like the rhythm is off when they have a conversation. Steve seems to _know_ when Tony’s going to say or do something, and he’s right there, waiting to laugh or respond, but that just throws Tony’s momentum off and makes everything incredibly awkward. 

Steve’s trying too hard to pick up where they left off, except he’s the only one who was left there because Tony’s standing at the starting line. 

It makes him feel guilty, and Tony _hates_ feeling guilty, but that’s all he can do, feel tons and tons of guilt for something he didn’t even do—not intentionally, hell, not even of his own willpower—because Steve _looks_ at him sometimes, and he can’t give Steve what he wants.

Once, a little drunk and a lot feeling sorry for himself, he’d gone over some of the camera feeds of the two of them hanging out. And there it’d been, in color and on a screen bigger than his Audi R8 spyder convertible. Proof in the pudding that he and Steve had been in love. It’d been there in the small touches and goofy smiles, in the easy back-and-forth, in the way they’d stood so close to each other.

And he can’t recall a single second of it. 

What gets to him—who’s he kidding? Everything gets to him right now—is that Tony doesn’t know if they would’ve even become _friends_ let alone lovers without Loki’s spell. A part of him says “no” based on their initial interaction. A bigger part of him says “yes” based on how Steve acted while Tony was under Loki’s influence. Eventually they would’ve, given enough time.

But he doesn’t know, won’t ever know, because it’s all fucked up now. Is he thinking that because of some residue of the spell? How can he trust anything he’s thinking or feeling? What if he’s still _under_ the spell? Is he going to wake up a few months or years down the road _again_ and not remember anything? Logic says that Loki wouldn’t use the same spell twice, but when have logic and fear ever mixed well? Tony just can’t escape the feeling that Loki’s not done fucking them over yet, that this is one more step into madness. 

Time. It’s all he’s got, but it’s already been stolen from him once, and what the hell do any of those psychologists know anyway?

So yeah, the whole Steve thing? It’s a little tricky. He’s kind of hoping ignoring it will make it go away. It’s never worked for him in the past, but he’s a firm believer in if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

All things being equal, it’s not the _worst_ year of his life—losing his parents, and being kidnapped by terrorists, only to survive in order to have the man who’d been the closest thing he’d had to a father-figure try to kill him, those years had been pretty bad—but it ranks right up there.

Like, does it even count that he’s had a birthday if he doesn’t remember it?

Well, yes, obviously, otherwise those birthdays that had passed in a haze of drunkenness wouldn’t have counted either. But he’s digressing.

What it comes down to basically is that having amnesia sucks big hairy donkey balls, and the only thing that makes it semi-better is the fact that Clint’s coming up with diddly squat, too. Which is absolutely horrible of him, but misery loves company and whatnot, and he’s been sick, okay, give him a break.

“Anything?” Tony asks as Clint answers his door. As the two people most fucked up by Loki’s recent invasion, they’ve started hanging out over the past couple of months, and they’ve learned that it’s best to do so on Clint’s floor since people have no problem randomly invading Tony’s living quarters for whatever reason, but everyone respects Clint’s privacy, which is seriously messed up.

“Nope. You?”

“Nada.”

“Right on.” 

Tony hands over the beer he’s brought, because they’d come to a silent agreement to avoid the hard stuff, which is extremely well-adjusted of them as far as Tony’s concerned. 

For the most part, they don’t really talk, unless it’s one of _those_ days, in which case, one person rants while the other nods sympathetically and is considerate enough to not change the channel too noticeably and occasionally offer up some advice. 

This time though, Tony’s come armed with a question.

“So you and Natasha, huh?”

Clint grins sheepishly, rubbing his hand back and forth over his head. “Maybe,” he says, and Tony nods. He’d just seen them talking, but they’d both been smiling, which is a nice change of pace from all the frowny longing glances he’s used to seeing. “I am cautiously optimistic.” 

“Good,” Tony says, because he knows how much the tension between the two of them has been killing Clint. 

“But?” Clint asks, looking at him sideways.

“But what?” Tony asks, trying to play dumb.

“Come on, you think I don’t know you’ve got an ulterior motive if you’re asking about my love life? Just spill it.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Fuck that, just ask already,” Clint says, rolling his eyes.

Tony watches him for a long time before asking, “How do you know it’s real?”

Of the two of them, Tony’s been doing better dealing with the aftermath of the spell. Or at least, it makes him feel better to think so. Same difference.

He’s not sure if he’s going to have to reevaluate, however, now that Clint is going right back into a relationship with the person he’d been _magically compelled to love_ by a guy who had basically taken over his mind, not once, but twice. Either that or call SHIELD and tell them Clint still isn’t out of the woods.

“Who’s to say what’s real? What, I can’t be deep?” Clint asks in response to the look Tony gives him. “I know what you’re thinking, Tony. I have the exact same thoughts. ‘What if it’s still part of the spell?’ Hell, I have worse thoughts considering it’s the first time on the merry-go-round for you; it’s the second for me. ‘What if I’m more susceptible to Loki’s magic than everyone else? What if I’m a liability to the team? What if Loki will always be in control?’”

Clint wraps unsteady hands around his bottle.

“The way I see it,” Clint says, “I can either let this hobble me—be scared and keep second guessing myself and become half the man I used to be—or I can pick up the pieces and keep on keeping on. I can’t say whether or not this is real. I can’t. But no one goes into a relationship knowing that. People break up with the person they thought was _the one_ all the time. This _feels_ real to me, though, and it _doesn’t_ feel like the first time Loki was here, and that’s enough for me right now.”

“That doesn’t help me at all,” Tony groans and rubs his forehead.

Clint shrugs. “This is one thing you’ve got to sort out for yourself, Tony. It’s not easy.” He smiles crookedly. “Not by a long shot. This is hours and hours of therapy talking right now. I’ve got my doubts, and I know Natasha has hers, too. But we’re working things out. One thing I’ve learned about life is that it’s going to kick you in the fucking face and leave you bleeding on the floor every chance it gets. You can just take it. You can lie on the damn ground, curl up into a ball and play dead. Or you can get up, spit in its face and say ‘fuck you, asshole, I do what I want.’ Loki doesn’t get to win this one. I’m not letting him win. I’ve got an incredibly intelligent, gorgeous and deadly woman whom I’ve cared about for years willing to take a chance on me, and I’m not stupid enough or fucked up enough to turn that down.”

“Good,” Tony says after a while, and this time, he’s being completely sincere.

They both stare at the television for a while before Clint asks, “How about you and—”

Tony snorts.

“Yeah, just checking.” Clint takes a long pull from his beer and then starts fiddling with the bottle, pulling off bits of the label and rolling them into balls before shooting them into the trashcan. Not surprisingly, he never misses. “Why not though?”

“Huh?” Tony says, oh-so-intelligently and follows it up with a witty, “What?”

“Why _aren’t_ you and Steve trying to work things out?”

“Have you forgotten that we don’t even _like_ each other?”

“You like him,” Clint says, quiet and sure. “Sure, you’re not BFFs, and he manages to piss you off like it’s in his job description, but you still like him. When Steve’s being himself, it’s impossible _not_ to like him.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“And he sure as hell likes _you_.”

“Look, Ms. Landers, I get that you think you’re the guru of love now that you and Natasha are talking, but my situation is a little different from yours.”

Clint has the audacity to shrug instead of giving him the satisfaction of arguing with him, which, what kind of friend is he? 

“Fine, be miserable. No skin off my back. But Natasha told me she’s never seen you happier than when you were with him.”

“That was the spell—”

“The spell made us fall in love. It didn’t make us fall in like. And being happy? You can be in love and be miserable at the same time, you know that.”

“That is such bullshit. You’re just pulling that out of your ass.”

“Yeah? You think so? I may not be a ‘genius’ like some other people in this room,” Clint says, pulling out the air quotes just to be a dick, “but I have my moments of insight. Steve told us Loki said the spell was meant to make us fall in love. He never said anything about them falling in love with us though. And what, you think Loki wouldn’t have been happier having nearly half the team depressed on top of the obsessive stalking? Think how fucked up we all would’ve been then.”

Tony’s tempted to say _I think you going insane was disruptive enough_ , but he’s not that much of an asshole. Besides, he’d been right there behind him on the Loco Locomotive, so pointing fingers isn’t in his best interest. Instead he says, “What’s your point, Barton?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously?”

“ _What_?”

“My _point_ , Stark, is that the _reason_ you two _were so good together_ is that you guys are _actually fucking compatible_. Shit, talking to you about this is literally painful,” he says and stands up. “You are so dense. I need another beer.”

\-----

Tony thinks about what Clint had said, but there are so many holes in this theory, it’s like looking through Swiss cheese. Clint and Natasha had already had a solid foundation of friendship before the whole thing had happened. He and Steve on the other hand had only just graduated to grudging respect and manly handshakes, which isn’t the same thing at all. 

Maybe one day they’ll become friends (although Tony doesn’t know if this incident has set them back or pushed them forward), but more than that? He just doesn’t see it happening.

Of course, he doesn’t see JARVIS waking him up at ass o’clock in the morning just to tell him Steve is having a nightmare either, and what the ever loving fuck.

“I told you to do what?” he asks, because there’s no way he heard what he thinks he just heard.

“You requested I inform you whenever Captain Rogers experienced a nightmare and was unable to return to sleep,” JARVIS says, and okay, that’s what he’d said the first time.

“Why would I do that?” Tony asks, because there’s being in love and being absofuckinglutely crazy, and _hello_. Spell. “Never mind. What else have I asked you to notify me about in regards to Steve?”

Luckily, there’s not a whole bunch. Sure, JARVIS is supposed to tell him when Steve’s all alone in the common area for over fifteen minutes, and when he spends more than two hours in his personal gym at a time, especially at night, and when he’s making double chocolate chip cookies, but it’s nothing super stalkery. (Obviously it’s a little stalkery, and Tony would make the world’s best stalker if he really had his mind set on it, but this stuff here is just small potatoes.) 

He doesn’t go downstairs since it’s already almost six in the morning and he doubts Steve will even want to go back to sleep, but he doesn’t cancel the command either. He doesn’t know why really, except he’s had his fair share of nights when dreams have driven him out of bed, and he gets it, he supposes.

Except JARVIS alerts him the next night, and the night after that, and fuck. 

Tony has been trying his hardest not to feel sorry for Steve. He can’t prevent the shitloads of guilt, but he wouldn’t want pity if he were in Steve’s position, and he’s not going to force it on Steve just because they’ve both gotten a rotten deal out of the whole Loki thing.

But nightmares. There’s nothing you can do about nightmares. You can’t tell yourself to buck up or put on a strong front for other people. Alcohol and sleeping pills might work sometimes, but they aren’t a certainty and can even make the dreams worse. Exhaustion helps, but it’s not a cure-all either, and nightmares are the absolute worst. They made it so you were scared to close your eyes, so you hated and longed for sleep; they were your mind betraying you and throwing you to the wolves over and over and over again.

Maybe it’s because of the spell, but Tony can’t help but feel a little pity for Steve then, even though he’d never admit it out loud.

He goes down to the communal kitchen, despite the fact that he’s avoided it since he’s gotten back, and he waits. He’s not comfortable enough to knock on Steve’s door, but if Steve’s looking for company . . . well, Tony can be that for him since he can’t be anything else.

It’s almost an hour later that Steve finally appears, and Tony can hear his footsteps in the hall, heavy and defeated. It makes his mouth tighten, but he doesn’t look up when they stop, gives Steve the chance to walk away in case he doesn’t want Tony there.

“Tony?” Steve says, cautious and hopeful, and Tony can’t help but feel that there are worlds of meaning in Steve’s voice that he’s missing somehow. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, shrugging casually like he’s down here all the time instead of pretending the whole area doesn’t exist. “I thought a change of scenery might help and ended up wandering down here. What about you?”

“Oh.” Steve stands there stiffly, eyes roving all over Tony’s face, but he finally makes his way fully into the room and sits down three stools away from Tony. “I thought I’d get some tea.”

“You ran out in your kitchen?” Tony asks, trying for chit-chat, although he’s not doing a very good job at it, but that’s the thing with Steve. He makes Tony feel clumsy and wrong-footed, and it’s not Steve’s fault, it’s not Tony’s fault, but it is what it is all the same.

“No. I just like it better here,” Steve says, looking down at the counter, and Tony bets there’s another memory there. Fuck. Open mouth, insert foot. 

He has the wild urge to go over and hug Steve, which, bad idea. Very bad idea. But it doesn’t go away, kind of lurks under his skin, making his arms itch. If he were a kinder person—or maybe if he were a crueler one—he’d do it, but he’s not, so he continues to sit instead and tries to think of something to say.

“Are you going to bake?” he comes up with at last, and what the fuck. Someone needs to put him out of his misery. “Bruce says you like to bake.” 

“I haven’t been doing that much recently,” Steve says after a long, awkward, _awkward_ pause, and Tony decides then and there that his normally glib tongue has turned traitor and he’s just going to sit there quietly until he’s finished with his Green Shake of Juicy Wrath—renamed in honor of Bruce—and then head back up.

But he’s in the middle of sketching out a diagram when he finishes, and he wants to keep working on it while the idea’s fresh in his mind, and then Steve’s nudging something against his arm and telling him to eat, so he does, wiping eggs off the image when they spill because he’s concentrating too hard to always get the fork to his mouth, and then he’s finally lifting his head, but somehow, it’s mid-morning, and Steve’s only two stools away from him, head on his arm on the counter, because he’s apparently fallen asleep in the middle of reading the newspaper, and when had that happened?

He thinks about waking Steve up, but he’s heard that waking people up in the middle of a nap makes it impossible for them to fall asleep again—or maybe that’s babies? Or dogs? Who knows really—so he decides against it. He can work anywhere, and if Steve’s tired enough to fall asleep while Tony’s mumbling to JARVIS, then who’s he to complain?

Later, when Steve does come to, sitting up straight in his stool and wiping self-consciously at any puddles on the counter, he apologizes, like Steve’s inconvenienced him somehow, and Tony just waves his hand dismissively. It’s been the best interaction he’s had with Steve since he’d woken up in the hospital, neither of them demanding anything from the other, and sure, that’d been because one of them had been unconscious, but he’s good. This has been good.

\-----

It doesn’t become a thing. Like, it _could_ become a thing if he’d let it, but it’s not as if Tony’s in the babysitting business, so he doesn’t. 

Sure, he _still_ doesn’t turn off the alert, and every now and then, he wanders down to the communal kitchen or living room, but he’s not doing it for Steve’s benefit or anything like that. 

He’s never been the most reliable of sleepers even before Afghanistan—too many ideas teeming in his head wanting to be set free, too many insecurities jockeying for position—and it’s just gotten worse since Loki. So if sometimes two almost-insomniacs end up being unable to sleep _in the same place_ , it doesn’t really mean anything.

Although it feels something like a victory the first time Steve slides a plate of home-made cookies over to him.

But that’s beside the point. They don’t talk about this not-thing of theirs, which basically means it’s not happening, and he’s totally down with that.

They keep not talking about for a month and then another month, keep to inconsequential stuff, like the weather or sports or the latest news headlines—although they carefully avoid the hot button topics because arguing is the last thing they want to do—or they’ll watch a movie or work on individual projects side by side. Tony starts thinking it might go on like this forever, them taking these teeny, tiny baby steps into a friendship that’s been twisted into every possible configuration but might finally be settling into something genuine.

Or at least, that’s what Tony thinks it is. Until Pepper comes for a visit and pulls him aside right before she’s supposed to leave in order to ask, “Tony, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I just told you that I’m streamlining the—”

“No. What are you doing to Steve?”

“I’m not doing anything to Steve,” he protests, but she’s looking at him all disapproving, and he can feel his shoulders hunch up. “What?”

“You can’t have it both ways, Tony.”

“Have _what_ both ways?” he asks, and he’s starting to get annoyed, because he’s not even doing anything, so what is she blaming him for?

“That boy—”

“I would hardly call a nonagenarian a ‘boy,’ Pepper—”

“—is in love with you, and you need to decide whether you reciprocate his feelings or not.”

“What?” he says again, feeling like he’s on repeat. “What are you—it’s just Steve. It’s not—”

“Tony,” she says, putting her hands on his shoulders and shaking him gently. “He loves you. And if you don’t want him, then you have to stop treating him the way you do.” 

“I don’t treat him any differently than I do Clint or Natasha or Coulson—” 

“You flirt. You always do. You don’t even do it on purpose, it’s just the way you are, and while most people know how to handle that, Steve isn’t most people, and to be honest? You flirt a lot more with him than you do with Clint or Natasha _or_ Coulson.”

She sighs at whatever expression he’s wearing and kisses him on the cheek.

“I have to catch my flight. Think about it, alright? If you’re not interested, then you have to give him some distance, because right now? You’re the center of his world, and he’s already had that come crashing down on him. He doesn’t deserve for it to happen again.”

\-----

He’s not that bad, is he?

Pepper isn’t even around most of the time, so how would she know how he acts around Steve?

Except when he kind of sort of broaches the topic with Clint, Clint throws his hands up in the air and says, “Finally! Someone else who’s willing to talk some sense into you! Yes, you are that bad, and Steve deserves better. You, my friend, either need to man up and bone him, or step back and leave him alone. Or, to put into words you might understand, shit or get off the pot, Tony.”

Eloquent.

And okay, sure, Steve still looks at him occasionally, never anything incredibly overt, but gives him these soft, wistful glances, and yeah, he probably _is_ still in love with him, and alright, Tony sometimes puts on the charm a little more than he has to, but he’s not _flirting_ really, he’s just a friendly guy, and _fine_ , in his weaker moments, Tony wonders if he’s doing them both a disservice by not even _trying_ to see if it could work out between them. 

But he doesn’t think so.

Steve’s a nice guy. Most of the time. He’s kind of a jackass some of the time, but Tony’s not really one to talk, so. He’s also got a body that just won’t quit, which Tony totally approves of. Plus, once a person gets past the prickly exterior, he actually has a snarky sense of humor that one wouldn’t expect, although Tony’s really only skimmed the surface of it so who knows what Steve’s got lurking under that “aw shucks” personality of his?

And yes. Yes. Tony’s a little curious.

But.

And it’s a big but. (Not Steve’s butt. Steve’s got some junk in his trunk, but it’s all kind of awesome junk. Tony’s not blind after all.)

But there’s so much history standing in the way, and it—it all comes back down to expectations really. It’s hard enough starting a relationship when you have only the most nebulous idea of how the two of you will fit together, but Steve already knows. Sort of. How he _thinks_ Tony acts might be completely different from how Tony _actually_ acts when he’s not being controlled by a spell, and that’s his whole point anyway.

What if all of this—not just the year, but the last few months after the year—is because of the spell? What if it’s all fake? 

It doesn’t _feel_ fake. Like Clint said, it feels _real_. But Tony doesn’t have anything to compare it to, and how is he supposed to know? He wants it to be real, but is that really him talking? Or is it Loki?

But say it was all real. Hypothetically. Say Tony and Steve had gotten so much closer because they wanted to and not because they had to. Even if that were the case, Tony’s still not certain he’d want to start a relationship with Steve. Steve has had some shitty stuff happen in his life, like losing his best friend and then losing his one true love, and that’s already a jumbo jet’s worth of baggage right there, but add to that Steve having stranger-in-a-strange-land issues and Tony having his own issues and Steve losing his current boyfriend, who, _oh,_ _just happens to be Tony_ , and any chance of having a normal relationship pretty much flies out the window.

So yeah, in his weaker moments, sometimes he wonders what it might be like to be with Steve. Generally, however, he reminds himself that time heals all wounds, and that while Steve misses him now, give him a few more months, and he’ll find someone else to focus on instead.

That all changes, however, when JARVIS tells him that Steve is packing his things. 

Tony’s downstairs and using his override to enter Steve’s living quarters before he can finish telling JARVIS to have DUM-E drain Steve’s gas tank.

Okay, so things have been a little weird the last couple of days, but Steve hadn’t given him any hint that he was getting ready to _leave_. Like, what the hell is up with that? It’s not as if they have some kind of standing appointment to be insomniacs together, but that doesn’t mean Steve gets to just bail on him without any warning at all. 

And no, it’s not hypocritical to tell himself Steve’s going to get over him and then be annoyed that Steve is trying to sneak away in the middle of the night—the afternoon, whatever—because it was supposed to be a gradual process and not like two fucking days later.

But Tony’s calm, he’s cool. Serenity now and all that shit. He can be rational.

“Hey, Steve,” he says as he stands at Steve’s bedroom door and catches the way Steve’s shoulders hitch slightly before he grabs a shirt and folds it carefully into a duffel bag.

“Tony,” Steve replies, but that’s it, no “how are you doing,” or “sorry, I haven’t been around,” or “oh, shit, I’m leaving, my bad for not telling you.” Just his name in an empty voice, and Tony replays their recent interactions in his head in case he’d said something to offend Steve, but he kind of says stuff that can offend anyone given enough time, so really, that doesn’t help as much as it should. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, because maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Steve is spring-cleaning or he’s decided to replace his wardrobe or something. Maybe he’s not abandoning Tony when he needs him most.

There’s a slight pause before Steve answers, saying, “Getting ready,” which doesn’t give Tony much to work with. And he still hasn’t looked at Tony.

“For what?” he asks, and it comes out a little sharper than he’d intended.

Not that it matters though since Steve doesn’t answer.

Tony doesn’t know what’s going on. Steve hasn’t acted this way towards him since the very first days of their acquaintance, although even then, Steve had been more bitter and angry than terse and . . . blank. Like he doesn’t care. Like leaving won’t bother him at all. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he asks, and he holds onto the doorframe so he doesn’t go in there and start throwing Steve’s clothes out of the bag. “Forget how to use your big boy words?”

“What do you want, Tony?” Steve asks and finally— _finally_ —turns around. He looks angry, but it’s better that than that awful nothingness he’d been giving Tony before, although Tony has yet to understand what he’s done to merit either. 

“Who says I want anything?” he asks, but that’s the wrong answer, Tony can tell immediately, because Steve flinches, and Tony hadn’t even meant to hurt him.

“Tony—”

“Why are you mad at me?” Tony asks, blunt and without any pretenses for a change. “And don’t tell me that you’re not, because you obviously are, and I don’t even know why.”

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Tony asks, “Were you at least going to say goodbye?”

Steve’s mouth tenses for a second, but then he crumples, right before Tony’s eyes, his shoulders stooping, his head lowering, and Steve rubs his forehead, hiding his face from Tony.

“Of course I would’ve said goodbye,” he says, the words muffled but still clear.

Tony waits a beat before asking, “In person?”

Steve raises his eyes to glare at him, but Tony refuses to back down or apologize. He’s not the one in the wrong here. Or at least, he doesn’t think he is, but how the hell is he supposed to know when Steve won’t talk to him?

Steve looks away first. “I heard you and Pepper talking.”

It’s so different from anything he’d expected to hear that he can’t think of anything to say other than, “What?”

“I didn’t mean to, but I was walking by, and . . .” Steve shrugs.

“It wasn’t what it sounded like—”

“Maybe not,” Steve says, managing some semblance smile. “But even if I didn’t hear what she meant to say, what matters is what the words meant to me. And I can’t keep doing this, Tony. I know that you’ve been trying to help. I know that. You show up when I’m depressed or can’t sleep or just feel lonely, and you try and take care of the problem, because, I don’t know, because you feel guilty maybe, or responsible, and I _let_ you. I let you because I keep thinking that if we spend enough time together, you’ll eventually start _wanting_ to spend time with me—”

“I _do_ want to spend time with you.”

“—instead of being obligated to, but it’s not fair to you, and it’s definitely not good for me, and the last thing I want is for you to start resenting me—”

“Are you even listening to me? I don’t resent you!”

“I’ve thought it over,” Steve continues, and he doesn’t seem to care that he’s running over everything Tony’s trying to tell him, “and decided the best thing to do would be to go away for a little while.”

Away from you, Tony hears all too clearly. 

“It’ll give me time to figure out what I’m going to do with myself. I was thinking I’d finish my trip across the country, see the sights and—”

“So what? That’s it? I don’t get any say in this?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve says, looking surprised that Tony would even ask. “No, you don’t. This doesn’t really have anything to _do_ with you—”

“Bullshit,” Tony says, and he doesn’t understand how Steve could even say something like that. Steve wants to _leave_ him. That has every fucking thing to do with him. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Steve argues, and he’s starting to get angry again, which _good_. Because Tony’s getting fucking pissed as hell. “I’m doing what’s best for the both of us—”

“Both of us? I thought you just said it didn’t have anything to do with me?”

“The _both of us_ ,” Steve says and seems like he’s considering whether or not to throw the shirt in his hand at Tony, “because it can’t be pleasant to have someone around who has feelings for you when you don’t return those feelings. But since they’re _my_ feelings, I get the final say in what I do with them!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What about me though?”

“What _about_ you?” Steve asks, like he doesn’t care, like he hasn’t even thought about it, and Tony kind of wants to punch him.

“What about the fact that I’ll fucking _miss_ you. That’ll I’ll be _alone_.”

For a second, Steve looks like Tony _did_ punch him, pale and winded, and then he says weakly, “What are you talking about? You have Pepper and Clint and Bruce—” 

“They’re not you! They’re not you, okay? None of them are my non-sleeping buddy. None of them make these amazing Snickerdoodles that I keep shoving into my face, even though I don’t normally like Snickerdoodles. I don’t want to invite any of _them_ to go on a long drive on our motorcycles, or ask them up to the Hamptons to fish because it seems like something they’d enjoy—not that I’ve ever invited you either, since I’ve been waiting until you were over me first before I offered—”

“We can still do that!” Steve says, looking a little wild around the edges. “Once I—”

“Once you’re over me? Once you’re dating someone else?” Tony asks, and just the thought makes him furious, because it was fine thinking of Steve getting over him one day when one day was far off in some vague and distant future. But when it’s standing right in front of him, mocking him with how lonely the future looks without Steve? 

So call him a hypocrite. Call him fucking Shirley for all he cares. But screw that. 

“No,” he says, and what does it matter that it’d been because of Loki and his damn magic? He’d fallen in love with Steve once. He can do it again. “No.”

He closes the distance between them in a few short steps, and Steve says, “Don’t do this, Tony,” looking braced for a blow, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t take as much as one single step back.

“Too late,” Tony says, and he wraps both hands around Steve’s head and pulls him down for a kiss.

===============

Kissing Tony feels like taking that first breath of air after keeping his head under the water for as long as he’d could because Bucky had dared him to do it, the ache that had been around his chest lightening, his head fuzzy, his body tingling. Back then, he’d known it would make him sick, but it’d been worth it for that moment when he’d seen Bucky look so surprised and impressed.

It’s the same stupid thing here. Steve knows that the repercussions of this kiss are going to be bad, that it’s going to ruin him when Tony changes his mind. But he doesn’t care. Not right now. Not when Tony’s in his arms again.

Had he ever fully appreciated what it felt like before? He’d been so caught up in the newness of the act and in trying to give Tony what he wanted that he’d never realized how much he enjoyed it until he couldn’t do it anymore.

Is it the same for Tony, he wonders? Is Tony enjoying this even half as much as he is?

It hurts to recognize how much the stages of their relationship have paralleled each other, to know that Tony’s doing this for Steve instead of for himself. But oh, he’s missed this, missed _Tony_ so much, and he’s weak, because for all his talk about needing time away, he can’t pull back. 

He feels alive for the first time in months, his fingers aching with how hard he’s gripping Tony’s shirt, his heart pounding and pounding, unfettered by despair. It’s so selfish, but while Steve had possessed enough control to fight his own desires, he can’t fight Tony’s, too.

So yes, this is going to break him when Tony decides to end things. But he’s used to paying a price for every good thing that’s ever happened to him, and if that’s what he has to give in order to have Tony a little longer, then so be it.


	10. Chapter 10

Falling in love with Steve is easy. Like ridiculously so. Tony basically gives himself permission to do it, and _boom_! Done deal.

It should worry him more. It should, because it makes the theory that the spell is still active that much more likely.

It doesn’t though. It worries him _some_ ; he’s not mental after all. Anymore. At least, he doesn’t think so.

He’s not obsessed with Steve, though. He doesn’t consider Steve a possession to own or to keep hidden, and thoughts of him don’t occupy Tony’s every waking moment. Tony checks to be certain. Every damn day. 

Of course, maybe he hadn’t felt that way the first time around either. Maybe he’s walking down the same exact path he’s walked before. Tony’s tired of playing it safe, though, tired of being afraid to take risks, acting like half the man he used to be, just as Clint had predicted. He’s sick of it all, and Loki doesn’t get to do that to him, especially not when his heart says his feelings for Steve are genuine.

What’s depressing though is that if he’d known that he was already that close to being head over heels, he would’ve stopped fighting it a long time ago. Think of all the wasted time! They could be having sex right now! _They could be having sex right now_. He might cry, it’s so sad. 

The problem, however—and of course there’s a problem, _of course_ there is—Steve doesn’t buy it. Not that Tony blames him. He wouldn’t buy it either if their positions were reversed. 

They’re not reversed though, and it’s frustrating to love someone who loves him back but gives him the stink-eye if he so much as tries to hold his hand when he’s not expecting it.

Needless to say, Tony hasn’t mentioned the L-word at all. 

He knows there’s no easy fix, knows that Steve’s half-waiting for one of them to go crazy again, and Tony admits it, there’s a part of him that’s waiting for it, too.

No matter what Clint says, it’s not like anyone would stick the two of them together in a yearbook with the caption “Most Likely to Get Married”, so the fact that they’ve gotten this far is a fucking miracle.

Tony would just like _another_ miracle now. Preferably the one in Steve’s pants.

He hasn’t had sex in over a year. He’s horny. So sue him.

Not to say that they aren’t making any progress, because they are. They spend a little more time together—not tons, but some—and Steve doesn’t hold himself quite as stiffly around him as he used to, like he’s waiting for Tony to turn on him at any moment. They’re small steps, but they’re important.

Additionally, they do hug a lot, which Tony will never say no to, because Steve is the world’s best hugger with his gorilla arms and broad chest and the way he buries his head in Tony’s neck; and they kiss, short chaste pecks and longer, dirtier lip-locks. They’ve even done a little light petting once—under the shirt but the clothes had stayed on and there’d been no straying below the waistline. Tony thinks he might develop the worst blue balls in the history of mankind and that his dick is going to fall off from neglect (actually, it’s more likely that he’ll pull it off from how frequently he’s masturbating, but that’s just arguing semantics really), but even with all of that, he doesn’t try and pressure Steve.

He gets it. He really does. And Steve? Is worth waiting for. So.

He channels all his frustrated sexual energy into blasting things when he’s out doing Iron Man stuff and designing new toys for Stark Enterprises to sell when he’s stuck at home being Tony Stark. The company has never done so well. 

He also continues his research into ways of combating magic. He’s finally started emailing a one Dr. Strange, and he’s hopeful that might lead somewhere good. Plus, he’s developed a few things that he’s dying to try on Loki—nothing fatal, but he imagines it has to take a lot of concentration to do spells, and while Loki might be the God of Mischief, Tony could totally be the God of Distraction.

And he woos Steve. He encourages him to take a full-time job at SHIELD—there is much arguing involved and angsting and Steve looking at him all judgmental-like, but just because Tony would never do well in such a structured organization, the same doesn’t hold true for Steve. (Steve had frowned the first time Tony had come back from a mission where Tony totally ignored government boundaries and imposed his own kind of peace. Tony had never seen so much frowning and that included the board meeting where he’d announced the company was going to stop making weapons. Tony had asked him to come along on the next one just in case Steve was just annoyed about being left at home, but that had led to a really long lecture about respecting other countries’ authority and proper procedures and blah blah blah, so he hadn’t bothered to ask again.) Tony makes sure to very obviously and obnoxiously not freak out whenever Steve goes out on an assignment, because, hello, not under a spell anymore, although sometimes he’ll sneak a piece of paper into Steve’s bag with something goofy like a red heart on it, just because. 

He discovers, or maybe rediscovers, that Steve isn’t much for going out to restaurants, because of the cost and the waste, but he loves musicals, and movies in the theater are a guilty secret. Especially romantic comedies. Steve _loves_ romantic comedies. Tony’s more of an action or thriller type of guy, but he deals because twining his fingers with Steve’s when they’re both reaching for the popcorn means a lot. 

They go out on motorcycle rides, and he makes Steve eat his dust, since Steve believes in following the speed limit, and Tony, not so much. He’s planning to take him four-wheeling next weekend, and he’s looking forward to Steve letting go completely, can’t wait to find out if Steve’s the type of guy who whoops out loud when he’s excited and the adrenalin is rushing, or if he just leans down closer to the bars and goes even faster. 

They play a lot of basketball, aka, Tony gets his ass handed to him in basketball frequently, because it turns out that Steve is killer on the court. Tony likes to think the reason he loses so much is that Steve has a tendency to wear really loose shorts that cling to his hips and also flip up a lot when he jumps, and he gets distracted, okay, celibacy is hard. It might not be the real explanation, but he goes with it anyway. (Occasionally, he offers to play strip-H-O-R-S-E—or strip-poker, or strip-anything really—and while Steve has yet to take him up on it, he remains optimistic.)

It’s not the life he would’ve necessarily chosen for himself a year ago, but what does that matter really when it’s the life he’s chosen for himself now? He’s got his health and his sanity and he’s got Steve, and all things considered, he’s a lucky man. 

===============

Steve wonders sometimes what Tony had been thinking when he’d designed the individual floors for the team. Tony had gotten so much right about his, the high ceilings and all the windows, the huge shower where the water never gets cold, the spacious kitchen, the fully-equipped workout room. But Steve still doesn’t understand why he has so much closet space. He can fit a _bed_ in one of his closets if he wants to, it’s so large.

It must have something to do with the number of clothes that Tony owns, although Steve can’t fathom why anyone needs that many different outfits, even if he is a billionaire. Nonetheless, Tony had designed Steve’s closets to be able to accommodate about ten times the number of shirts and slacks that Steve currently owns, and as a result, he has a lot of empty hanging space. 

He has much less empty floor space in his closets, however, and that’s because it’s covered in boxes that are filled with pictures he’s drawn and can’t bring himself to throw out.

He’s never felt the urge to look at them once he’s finished drawing, but he feels compelled to do it now, hands slightly unsteady as he takes out napkins, torn corners off sheets of paper, notebook pages, cardboard, anything and everything that he could possibly draw on in order to find some kind of relief. 

Sometimes, the image is small and surrounded by white space, as if he couldn’t bear to add anything else. Other times, a page might be filled from top to bottom with replicas of buildings he’d seen, of some of the places he’d visited and loved and some that he only remembers from his nightmares, of the people who have been a part of his life. 

And there are so many people. The Howling Commandoes. Dr. Erskine. Zola and the Red Skull. Howard and Colonel Phillips. Bucky. Peggy.

He’s drawn them eating, laughing, moody and quiet, angry and threatening, staring off into the distance, and staring up at him from the paper. He’s drawn instances he remembers sharing with them and some that he’d never had the opportunity to experience but wishes he could have. He’s drawn each and every one of them so many times that he feels he could do it with his eyes closed now, _has_ virtually done it already with all the times he could barely see because of the painful dryness of his eyes and the memories that clouded his vision.

It’s almost strange when he opens a new box and the first drawing he pulls is so much more hopeful than the ones in the previous box, the lines not pressed so heavily into the paper and fewer shadows crawling over the page. He picks up an older sheet and smiles sadly at how dark the image is, at the small holes in the paper from where the pen had gone through.

Steve pauses at the first picture of Tony. He’d drawn Tony’s body at an angle, but he’d still shown Tony’s arched eyebrow, the dubious expression on his face, and it makes Steve smile softly to see it, to try and remember why he’d drawn it in the first place. 

The rest of the Avengers appear occasionally, as do Fury and Coulson, and Loki and his army. He finds more of Bucky and Peggy as well. But nearly half of the newer pictures are of Tony, sometimes in random, silly poses, as if he’d been gently teasing Tony with the way he’d portrayed him, and sometimes more seriously, in the Iron Man suit or bent over some diagram or piece of machinery. There are even some in there of Tony and Pepper; Steve wonders how he hadn’t known how much he cared for Tony even then considering every picture has Tony looking away from Pepper and always toward something else.

The last box is nothing _but_ Tony, and Steve watches the reverse progression of the most recent drawing of Tony grinning cockily on his motorcycle to Tony looking thin and haggard, hands reaching out, eyes burning with emotion as he stares up at Steve from the page.

He can’t look at it for long, however, and drops it down with the others.

Steve sits on the floor, surrounded by his dead or those lost to him, and he chooses the last drawing he’d done of Tony to hold instead, tracing his features and looking into eyes that dare him to do _something_.

Tony has been incredibly patient about Steve’s concerns regarding their relationship. While Tony hasn’t done or said anything to make him feel like Tony’s getting frustrated with how guarded he’s been, Steve knows he’s eventually going to run out of time. He always has, even if it wasn’t by choice, the war taking precedence over anything else.

Nothing’s keeping him from Tony except himself, however, and he’s so tired of living in his past, in his head, with all of his regrets and the fear of the unknown weighing him down. 

He packs up the pictures carefully, still not quite ready to let them go, but keeps the one of Tony with him. He puts it in the top drawer of the bed stand to remind himself that courage comes in many forms and that while he’s put his life on the line on many occasions, it’s time he puts his heart out there as well.

===============

“Alright, let’s do this,” Tony says, clapping his hands together. 

The past few weeks have seen a marked progression in his and Steve’s relationship. For one, there have been many fewer cautious looks from Steve, which Tony is infinitely grateful for. He understands why Steve is suspicious, but it’s never fun having the person you’re in love with doubt you all the time.

Two, Steve’s been more relaxed in general, smiling more, sleeping better—not a whole lot but every hour helps—and easing off from his Captain Serious persona enough to even put his feet up on the coffee table. Tony’s just counting the days until he finds Steve sitting on the couch in his pajamas, hand down his pants, hair messy, and teeth not brushed. It’s going to be amazing.

And three—oh, wonderful, amazing, fantastic three—he and Steve have finally started rounding third base, and Tony is so excited that he thinks he might go crazy from the anticipation. 

Except not really since he’s already been slightly crazy once, and he has no real desire to repeat that experience, thanks all the same.

Getting back on track. So anyway, he wants to be prepared. Ready. He wants to make sure Steve likes sex—no, strike that, he wants to make sure Steve _loves_ sex so he keeps coming back for more and more, and is so flooded with lust and affection that he never has misgivings about Tony again, and is so overwhelmed by the whole experience that he finally breaks down and proclaims his everlasting love for Tony, and basically begs to be kept chained to Tony’s bed, naked at all times.

No pressure though.

And he’s totally not nervous. At all. 

It’s just, practice makes perfect and all that jazz, and while he’s had anal sex before and logistically, the prep work is all the same, there are some anatomical differences between men and women that he has to take in consideration when thinking about doing anything with Steve—aka, the prostate—and while he’s all for theory, he’s always been a hands-on type of guy.

Thus, he’s in his workshop.

The concept’s the same as almost all the inventions he’s created, including the suit: JARVIS creates a 3D mock-up that he can interact with and manipulate, and through trial and error, he perfects his project. What can go wrong?

“JARVIS, put up an image of, hmm, let’s say the average Caucasian male’s pelvic area, front and back, anatomically correct goes without saying, flaccid though because an erect holographic penis is not good for my peace of mind, legs parted to say thirty five degrees, and wow, suddenly, I’m feeling like I’m directing a futuristic porno, which is just weird. Is this weird for you, JARVIS?”

“Sir, I no longer find anything you request of me peculiar,” JARVIS replies, making Tony laugh, although that dies out pretty quickly when JARVIS puts up the representation.

“Okayyyyy . . .” Tony says, eyeing the floating body part, which is—no. Just no. “You know what? Let’s try something else.” He crumbles the image quickly and tosses it toward the recycle bin. “Let’s go with the entire body, dimensions still in line with the average Caucasian male, although let’s go with a little more muscular, not Arnold Schwarzenegger in his heyday muscular, but toned, runner or swimmer type of body, face an amalgamation of the top twenty sexiest men in People or whatever magazine you can pull from, everything else the same as before, and let’s see where that gets us.”

Oh, well this is better, Tony thinks as he walks around the projection. It’s not Steve, but then, he’s not trying to replicate Steve because their first time should be together instead of apart. Still, it’s definitely a step up from before, and it should work well enough to suit his purposes.

At least he thinks so. Until he steps closer, and his hands hover over blue tinged hips, reluctant to close the distance.

“Hmm, maybe if we . . . um, why don’t we . . . we could . . . you know what, JARVIS? I am shocked to say this, but I think I’m going to ask you to do something that might actually make me blush. Why don’t you bend him over the table to make it easier to access his . . . well, his . . . I’m really tempted to say his USB port right now, but I’m going to refrain.”

“And may I say what a wise decision that is, Sir. Is this satisfactory?” JARVIS asks as the image puts its hands on the surface of Tony’s worktable and leans forward at the waist.

“Close enough,” he says and frowns down at the ass in front of him, which is, well, right in front of him. “For heaven’s sake, I’m starting to feel like I should put on a doctor’s coat and a latex glove, or at the very least, take the guy out for dinner first. This is ridiculous.” 

Not to mention there’s this tiny niggle of guilt because as with everything JARVIS does, the projection is flawless in detail, even if it’s see-through and obviously not real, and seriously, what the hell is wrong with him that he’s having hang-ups about feeling up imaginary men?

It doesn’t stop him from taking a few steps back though.

“Alright, junk this, too. You know what? Let’s just use me as the model. You’ve seen me naked before, JARVIS—”

“More times than even I can keep track of, Sir.”

“Oh, c’mon. As if you’d have it any other way. Okay, third time’s the charm. Make the projection a replica of me—” He breaks off as the image morphs seamlessly into a duplicate of him and gives a low whistle. “Damn. I am one fine figure of a man.”

“As you say, Sir.”

He does a half-circuit around the hologram, just because, and still weird, but no one can blame him for feeling up himself. It’d be positively un-American.

“You know what, JARVIS, I’ve changed my mind. Give him—it—me—an erection after all. Wow, that sounds bad. But if I’m doing this, I should at least be having a good time. And put on a, I don’t know, sex face or something—I don’t look like that! Not that either! Do I really—whatever, you know what I’m going for!” 

They finally get everything arranged to his satisfaction, and he stands behind himself, all ready to perfect his ability to find a man’s prostate. Later, he might try a variety of positions so that he can find it during a blow job or whatever, but he might as well keep it simple the first time around. 

“This gives masturbation a whole new meaning,” he mutters and reaches between them—

“Ahhhhhhh!” Pepper screams, and Tony jumps back, eyes wide and heart racing.

“What are you _doing_?”

“What are _you_ doing?” she asks, covering her face with her hand.

“Research!” he says, shoving everything into a folder for later.

“My eyes!” 

“Oh, come on, you know this isn’t even the weirdest things you’ve caught me doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Pepper says.

“Really? Even weirder than—”

“Yes!”

“And the time—”

“ _Yes_!”

“Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right,” he concedes and sits down on the table, because shame is something other people experience, and besides, he’s still got stuff to do after she leaves. 

===============

Steve doesn’t know why he’s so surprised the first time Tony tells him he loves him.

He’s just gotten back from a week-long-mission, the first time he’s ever taken an assignment that’s required him to be in the field for so long. Tony, as curious as always, asks how it went, where did he go, did he have to beat anyone up, of course he had to beat someone up, did he get to throw the shield, because Tony likes the way Steve swivels his hips when he throws the shield, and Steve should do that for him right now as a matter of fact.

For all that Tony hacks into SHIELD’s database whenever he gets the chance now that Steve works for them, he doesn’t actually have much clearance regarding anything but the Avengers. It’s always difficult balancing Tony’s desire to know versus what Steve’s able to tell.

When Steve reveals that he’d lost radio contact the second day—just a glitch in the system, nothing nefarious—but got it back the fourth, he thinks Tony will go into his familiar rant about how SHIELD needs to hire Stark Industries to upgrade their current technology, because whoever had done it before couldn’t find his ass with his hands in the dark.

What he doesn’t expect is for Tony to pale and say, “They lost contact with you? And they didn’t tell me?” 

“Now, Tony,” he says, backpedaling quickly. “It wasn’t—”

“It wasn’t what, Steve? Important enough?” Tony asks, expression darkening, and this isn’t going to end well, Steve knows already. “Oh yeah, we’ve just sent an agent into hostile territory and can’t locate him, but no big deal?”

“I wasn’t in any danger—”

“Two words, Steve. _Hostile_. _Territory_.” Tony pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously, and Steve winces. Fury is not going to be happy.

“They would’ve notified you if anything had actually happened to me,” he tries to assure Tony and reaches out to tug Tony’s phone away, but Tony shoots him a look that has Steve holding his hands up and taking a step back.

Now that he thinks about it, he really needs to update his personnel information. Back when SHIELD had first found him, they’d given him all sorts of paperwork to reestablish that he was alive and that he was “working” for SHIELD—even if all that had entailed had been trying to understand what his place was considering everyone and everything he’d known were gone. At the time, he’d left the emergency contact section blank, because there hadn’t been anyone to care if something went wrong. He hadn’t thought to change it when he joined full-time. Of course, there are several people who know about him and Tony now, and Tony would be told at some point if an issue arose, but—

“I’ll just make sure of that,” Tony says grimly, jabbing at the phone. 

Steve can feel a reluctant smile start curving his lips. Tony being in a temper over this is unexpectedly heart-warming. 

“What do I matter after all?” Tony mutters, and Steve knows by now to let him get it all out instead of interrupting. “I’m just the guy who happens to have created some of SHIELD’s best tech, who sleeps, eats and breathes computers and electronics, who could fly in to wherever you are and oh, I don’t know, _get you out_ since I’m fucking _Iron Man_. I’m just the guy who’s _in love with you_ , but whatever, who cares, why should I get to know when you’re in trouble?” 

Tony keeps going, but Steve isn’t paying attention anymore, stopped paying attention when Tony had thrown out the words “in love with you” like a curse, and he says in a weak voice, almost a whisper really, “What?”

Tony looks up, eyebrows furrowed as he takes in Steve’s expression, and Steve can tell the exact moment when Tony realizes what he’s just said by the way his mouth tightens.

“I love you,” Tony says, defiant, and Steve half-expects a “so there” to follow, but it doesn’t come.

Tony has never said that to him before. Not once. Not even when he’d been under Loki’s spell.

What’s funny is that Steve had known back then, or at least, he’d recognized all the signs even before they’d found out the reason _why_ Tony felt the way he did. Prior to that moment, however, it’d been amazing to realize how much Tony had cared about him, to _rely_ on it, and it had enabled him to take that first step and feel the same.

Now though . . . 

He’d known that Tony loved him. Mostly. 

He’d suspected at least, although he’d been hesitant to give it a name when he’d been so wrong once already. Tony treats him differently from anyone else, however, seeks out his company, entertains and uplifts him, puts up with all of Steve’s faults and problems and is willing to be vulnerable enough to reveal his own. Tony gives him a certain level of care and thoughtfulness that makes it obvious how attached he is, and if it’s not with the single-minded fervor that he’d shown while under the spell, Steve values it all the more because of it. 

But love?

“—not because of the damn spell, or because of, I don’t know, Stockholm’s Syndrome or something,” Tony says, and Steve blinks, hadn’t even realized he’d been talking. “You’re a good man, Steve, a noble one, and I respect that. I admire you for it. Yes, maybe this whole thing started off for the wrong reasons, but that doesn’t make how I feel for you any less real, and I haven’t said anything, because I know that you probably don’t want to hear that I love you right now, but—”

“You’re wrong,” Steve says hoarsely and grasps Tony’s hand when he flinches and starts to look away. “No, wait, I meant, I _do_ want to hear it. That.”

Is it strange that he’s gone into fights with less anxiety than he’s feeling right now? His grip tightens around Tony. He doesn’t want to be wrong, doesn’t want to make another mistake, because it’d felt like being frozen all over again when Tony had suddenly stopped loving him, but—

But he remembers all too clearly how it had felt to realize the truth when it was too late, how he’d promised himself he wouldn’t let this second chance pass him by, and he _knows_ that there will always be a reason to doubt Tony, to doubt this. The question is whether or not he’s willing to fight for it anyway, to expose himself to the potential success as well as the pain. 

And there really is only one answer to that.

“I want to—I love you, too, Tony,” he says, his heart pounding so hard that it almost hurts. 

It feels like stepping out of an airplane without a parachute when Tony kisses him, his stomach dropping, his hands desperate to find anything to hold onto. Except that Tony’s right there, holding on just as tightly, his kisses almost clumsy, like he can’t believe this is happening, and Steve kisses him all the harder as a result.

It’s going to be alright, Steve thinks, somehow joyful and light-headed and determined all at the same time. He wraps his arms around Tony and pulls him as close as he can. They’ll figure this out together.

===============

Tony doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must’ve been out of it for a while considering he’s lying with his head propped on Steve’s shoulder and his back is killing him from being slouched down on the couch all night and that might possibly be Steve drool in his hair.

He kind of wishes he could stay where he is for Steve’s sake if nothing else—they both still have issues sleeping, and Tony wonders if they always will—but seriously, his _back_. 

He groans as he straightens, joints cracking alarmingly, and hears Steve snuffle as he joins the world of the living, too, which is so cute, he almost can’t stand it.

They’ve been doing this more lately, cuddling (manly cuddling, though, because that’s the way he rolls) and relaxing together, falling asleep if the mood hits them instead of walking to their separate bedrooms and wondering why the urge to close their eyes has completely vanished. 

Steve is half-furnace, half-octopus when he’s sleeping, and it’s been something of a challenge getting used to being a blanket/teddy bear—a beddy bear? A blankeddy?—but it comes with its own rewards, including a Steve who is increasingly comfortable getting semi-naked in his bed, so he can’t complain.

Actually, complaining is the last thing he wants to do, because a semi-naked Steve? Is perfection in human form and Tony would spend hours just licking him if he thought Steve would let him get away with it. He might just faint from the wonder of it all when Steve finally takes every last bit of clothing off. Seriously. It could happen.

“Why did we fall asleep on your couch? I can’t feel my arm,” Steve groans, and it makes Tony grin and reach out to help get the circulation going.

“Tony, I said I couldn’t feel my _arm_ ,” Steve says dryly a second later when Tony starts vigorously massaging his upper thigh.

“Oops, my mistake,” he says and adjusts accordingly. Steve shakes his head at him, but he doesn’t draw away, smiles and tugs Tony into his arms as a matter of fact, circulation be damned, and Tony is more than willing to be swept up into his oh-so-firm embrace.

Very firm as a matter of fact.

“Mmm, _hello_ ,” Tony murmurs as he settles onto Steve’s lap, wiggling just a little, because why not. 

Steve’s cheeks flush, but he keeps smiling and looking up at him—Tony isn’t short, but he rarely gets to loom over Steve, and Tony is totally enjoying this, he’s not going to lie—and Steve’s hands smooth over his hips.

Tony can take a hint when he’s groped by one. He leans forward to kiss Steve, slowly at first, getting used to the angle and the morning breath, not that he minds really, and it soon goes from just exchanging lazy kisses to exchanging slightly less-lazy kisses and tangling his fingers in Steve’s hair, just because he can, and grinding down a little in order to hear and feel the way Steve’s breath catches, the way his hands tighten as if he needs something to hold onto.

They haven’t actually gotten to the point of exchanging mutual orgasms, although Tony is all for it, okay, _all for it_ , but they’ve been skirting the border for a while now. There’s something different about the mood in the air this morning though, a little less restraint and a lot more anticipation, and when Tony tilts Steve’s head back enough to bite his jaw lightly, Steve’s lets out this surprised, broken little gasp and rocks up like he can’t help himself.

It’s been a while since they’ve talked about this, about what they wanted and how long it might take to get there. Tony’s always been careful to take his cues from Steve, watching for any signs that Steve’s reached his comfort level, backing off and redirecting when he thinks Steve needs him to. It’s not a perfect system by any means, and Tony’s as fallible—maybe more so—than the next guy, but neither of them have been interested in talking about it again, like too much in their relationship probably, but then, talking can only get you so far, and while Tony could out-talk a used car salesman if he wanted to, there are some things that only time can take care of. 

Still, being on such high alert means that he’s never been able to throw himself into making out with Steve as much as he’d want to. He doesn’t care—well, he does, because seriously, _Steve_ —but it’s worth the sacrifice. He hasn’t worked this hard to get Steve to trust and love him just to fuck it up in the home stretch by pushing Steve when he’s not ready in exchange for a few minutes of feeling good. Besides, there are compensations, getting to watch Steve’s expression at each new and different sensation, being able to hear Steve sigh and feel him shiver.

But he’s never seen Steve react the way he is now.

“Steve,” Tony says, and his voice is a mess, hoarse and scratchy, and so painfully hopeful that it’s embarrassing. “Can I—”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “ _Please_.”

It’s over too soon, Steve arms wrapped around his waist, his head burrowed in Tony’s neck, and Tony can’t even be frustrated by how quickly it all happened, because Steve coming all over his hand is _explosively_ _hot_ , and Tony would pay _so much money_ right now to be able to see both their cocks covered with Steve’s come, except he can’t, because Steve has a death grip around him, and even now, the last thing Tony’s willing to do is push him away.

But then Steve’s hand slides over his, spreading the wetness around, and it makes him freeze, makes his fingers turn lax so Steve has no problem moving them out of the way so he can grip Tony’s cock. Steve leans far back enough that they both get to see the proof of how much Steve liked what they’d done, and while that image is being happily stored in Tony’s brain, Steve makes it a million time better by gliding his hand up and down, up and down, unsteady but still perfect, and Tony would like to say that it takes a lot more than that this first time around, but it really, really doesn’t. 

Afterward, he tries to convince Steve that their shirts are beyond the abilities of modern technology to clean and should be thrown out, but Steve doesn’t believe him. He does agree to take his off, however. And his pants. And everything else.

Tony doesn’t faint, but it’s a near thing.

Later, he gets to show off everything he’s learned in his research sessions—Steve looking up at him, eyes widened with surprise and pleasure, cock dripping precome onto those perfect abs of his as he clenches around Tony’s fingers—and it’s so much better than using a holographic version of himself, he can’t even begin to express the difference. 

He can come against the back of Steve’s thigh though as Steve demonstrates he doesn’t need stimulation to his cock to have an orgasm, and holy fuck, he’s not sure what he’s going to do if sex with Steve gets much better than this.

What he does apparently is having one of the best orgasms of his life, because there’s no way he’s passing up the opportunity to get his mouth on Steve’s gorgeous cock while Steve pants and shivers underneath him, and damn. _Damn_. Steve doesn’t even have to reciprocate. Tony comes against the mattress like he’s a teenager again.

Tony was so right. Steve? Totally worth the wait.

===============

“I haven’t seen you around here lately,” Natasha says as she sits on the couch next to him. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Steve says, smiling. It’s true that he’s been busy, but she’s been gone just as much as he has, if not more. There’s a rumor floating around that they might have a way of tracking Loki, but it hasn’t been confirmed either way. He knows that Tony’s been secretive about some project with SHIELD scientists, however, so it makes him optimistic that they’ll finally have the upper hand for a change instead of always waiting for the next blow to fall. 

“How are you?” he asks, but Clint plops down onto the seat on the other side of him before she has the chance to respond.

“Hey, man, not cool trying to chat up Nat while I’m gone. Tony not keeping you busy?” he asks with a waggle of his eyebrows that has Natasha rolling her eyes.

“Tony’s working on a project downstairs. He’ll be up later.”

“Oh, I just bet he—” 

Nat reaches across Steve and shoves a handful of popcorn kernels into Clint’s mouth to keep him from finishing his sentence.

“Shhh,” she says, popping one into her mouth. “The movie’s starting.”

Bruce’s arrival stops Clint from retaliating, and then the movie actually _is_ starting, and they all get absorbed, although each with different things. Clint and Natasha take turns heckling the bad acting and throwing popcorn bullets at the actors, Bruce scoffs at the science or lack thereof, and Steve watches silently, always surprised by how realistic the special effects are—to him at least—but with half his attention diverted by thoughts of Tony.

Tony is downstairs in his lab, probably listening to deafeningly loud music as he creates some marvel of technology out of thin air. Steve could keep Tony company if he wanted to; he has an open invitation to Tony’s workroom. Tony tends to shut everything else out when he’s “in the zone,” however, and Steve would prefer to watch bad movies with everyone else than listen to bad music with Tony—or rather, try to ignore the music in order to concentrate on whatever project he might take down to occupy himself.

He likes the fact that they pursue their own activities, that being in love doesn’t mean being consumed by each other and that they have a choice of spending their time together or apart. Steve feels like they’ve fought for that right, that they’ve earned it, and whether they choose to exercise it or not, it’s their decisions to make.

Besides, Tony _will_ come up later, and maybe he’ll listen to Steve try to explain what the movie is about—although Steve’s not sure he knows, even though he’s an hour into it—or maybe he’ll complain about how he’s having trouble with his latest invention. Whatever the topic, Steve appreciates those moments when they reconnect more than he can say.

“Did you miss me?” Tony asks when he finally arrives, long after Clint and Natasha have left and Bruce has fallen asleep in his chair. Tony leans over the back of the couch and wraps his arms around Steve’s chest, nuzzling the side of his neck.

“Maybe just a little,” Steve says and smiles, turning to kiss him softly on the lips.


End file.
